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X 







POETRY FOR SCHOOLS: 



DESIGNED FOR 



READING AND RECITATION 



THE WHOLE SELECTED FROM THE BEST POETS IN THE 
ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 



BY THE AUTHOR OF 

•AMERICAN POPULAR LESSONS," "PRIMARY DICTtONARY," "CLASSIC TALES," 

"biography for SCHOOLS," "tales from AMERICAN HISTORY," 

"ENGLISH HISTORY," "GRECIAN HISTORY," ETC. ETC. 



- Jlt4J JlJU-e^- ^r6^ny< 



M 

Not marble nor the gilded monuments 

Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme. 

Shakspcare. 



gc IKcto ana aaebiiscU lEUition, toitj) ^Uliitions. 



NEW YORK: 

C. S. FRANCIS & CO., 252 BROADWAY. 

boston: 

j.h. francis, 128 washington street. 

y 1850. 






5 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in tho year ISSf, 

By Charles S. Francis & Co. 

Ib tho Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. 



PRINTED BV 

MUNEOF. & FRA.NCI3, 

BOSTON. 






^ .A.^<* 



CONTENTS. 



PAOB 

PREFACE, 9 

NATURE OF POETRY, 13 

FIGURES OF SPEECH, 26 

HISTORY OF ENGLISH POETRY, 35 

ENGLISH POETRY. 

Edmund Spensbr, ...,.---43 

Sir Philip Sidney, .--.--- 45 

Sir Walter Ralbioh, .-----.47 

Una and the Red Cross Knight, - - - Spenser, 47 

Chivalry, ....-----50 

The Oak and the Briar— a Fable, - - - Spenser, 54 

Inscription for a Bust of Shakspeare, . - - Akenside, 57 

Shakspeare, ...--. Idem, 57 

Sonnet to Shakspeare, . . - . - Milton, 60 

Hubert and Prince Arthur, - - . . Shakspeare, 61 

Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigod, - - - Jd. 66 

Henry IV. and Prince Henry, . . - id, 68 

Henry V. and Chief Justice, . ... Id. 72 

Scene from Cymbeline, - - . - id. 77 

Milton, ...-.-..81 

Verses to My Father, .-.-«- Milton, 83 

Sentence pronounced on Adam and Eve, - - Id. 86 

The Departure from Paradise, • . - • Id. 88 

Parthia, - Id. 91 

Rome, ........ Id. 93 

Athens, ------- id. 96 

The Lady in Comus, ------ /rf. 98 

Song in Comus, .-..-- id. 100 

Comus and the Lady, ----- /d. 100 

Dryden, .-.----.- 104 

Tournaments, -...--.. 104 

Extract from Palamon and Arcite, . - . Dryden, 111 

3 



IV 



CONTENTS, 







FA SB 


Boadicea, ..... 


Cowper, 


117 


The Druids, ...... 


. 


119 


Scene from Caractacus, ... 


- Mason, 


121 


Capture of Caractacus, .... 


Id. 


122 


Warton, ...... 


. 


125 


The Grave of Prince Arthur, ... 


ffarton, 


127 


Mrs. Hemans, ..... 


. 


132 


Burial of William the Conqueror, 


- Mrs, Hemans, 


135 


Extract from Windsor Forest, ... 


- Pope, 


137 


The Crusades, - - - . . 


. 


138 


The Crusade — a Poem, .... 


Warton, 


140 


Joanna Baillie, ..... 


. 


146 


Prince Edward in Prison, .... 


Miss Baillie, 


147 


Prince Edward and his Keeper, 


Id. 


147 


Sir Waltkr Scott, ..... 


. 


149 


The Last Minstrel, .... 


- fTalter Scott, 


150 


Improvisitori, ..... 


Oalt, 


153 


The Child of BranksomCj ... 


Scott, 


156 


The Galliard's White Horse, 


Id. 


159 


Border Wars, ..... 


Id. 


161 


The Gathering, ..... 


Id. 


162 


Roderick Dhu, .... 


Id. 


163 


The Alarm, 


Id. 


163 


TheTeviot, 


Id. 


168 


Lord Surrey, . . . . . 


. 


168 


Surrey's Vision, .... - 


Scott, 


170 


Constance de Beverly, . . . . 


Id. 


172 


Illustrations of the Story of Constance, - 


. 


178 


Lady of the Lake, .... 


Scott, 


181 


The Chase, ..... 


Id. 


182 


Ellen Douglas, . . . . . 


Id. 


185 


Rokeby, ...... 


Id. 


190 


Matilda, ...... 


Id. 


190 


Redmond O'Neal, .... 


Id. 


191 


Homer, ....... 


. 


195 


Moses' Song, ..... 


Ezodus, 


196 


Remarks on the Iliad and Odyssey, 


. 


196 


Parting of Hector and Andromache, 


Pope's Homer, 


199 


Sarpedon, ..... 


Id. 


204 


Death of Sarpedon, .... 


Id. 


206 


Revenge of Achilles, - - . . 


- Id. 


208 


Funeral of Hector, .... 


Id. 


209 


Ulysses, ..... 


Id. 


213 


Calypso, ..... 


Id. 


214 


Ulysses and Gryllua— from the French, 


Fenelon, 


318 



CONTENTS, 



Wisdom, . - . . . 

Circe's Palace, • - - . 

Argus, • • : • - 

Greek Poets, .... 

jESCHYLnS, - . . . . 

Scene from the Tragedy of Agamemnon, 
Sophocles, . . . . . 

Antigone, .... 

Antigone and Ismene, ... 
Euripides, .... 

iphige.nia, ..... 

Scene from the Tragedy of Iphigenia, 
SouTHEr, . . . . . 

Roderick in Solitude, • 

Pelayo and his Children, - . • 

Religion of Greece, ... 

Heavenly Love, .... 
Lord Byron, .... 

Night at Corinth, . . . 

Decapitation of Hugo, 

Prisoner of Chillon, 

Turkey, .... 

Vision of Belshazzar, ... 

Battle of Waterloo, 

Ball of Brussels, .... 
Wordsworth, .... 

The Bee, - . . . . 

Forsaken Indian Woman, 

The Solitary Reaper, - . . 

Andrew Marvell, ... 

The Emigrants, .... 
Henry Vauohan, ... 

Early Rising and Prayer, 

The Timber, 

The Rainbow, .... 

The Wreath, 
Thomson, ..... 

Intellectual Labor, ... 
Collins, ..... 

Verses on the Death of Thomson, 

Hassan, the Camel Driver, 
Gay, 

The Butterfly and the Snail, 

The Hare and many Friends, 



Proverbs, 
Pope's Homer, 
Id. 



Patterns Translation, 



FVanklin'' s Sophocles, 



Translation, 



Southey, 

Id. 
Per civ al. 
Souther/, 

Byron, 
Id. 
Id. 
Id. 
Id. 
Id. 
Id. 

Wordsworth, 
Id. 
Id. 

Mar veil, 

Vaughan, 
Id. 
Id 
Id. 

Thomson, 

Collins, 
Id. 

• Gay, 
Id. 



PAOE 

223 
234 
225 
227 
228 
231 
234 
234 
2:il) 
L'39 
240 
241 
244 
245 
24i» 
251 
252 
253 
253 
254 
256 
257 
2.-.9 
2tJ0 
2(J2 
264 
265 
267 
269 
27t) 
271 
272 
273 
273 
274 
274 
275 
276 
278 
278 
279 
281 
281 
283 



VI 



CONTENTS, 



RfttERS, . . . • . 

Extract from the Pleasures of Memory, 

The Alps at Day-Break, 
Wolfe, ..... 
Sir John Moore, . - . . 

Verses on the Death of Sir John Moore, 
COWPER, . . . . . 

The Poet .... 

Crazy Kale, ... 

Verses on a Spaniel, &c. 

Beau's Reply, . . . . 

Verses to Mrs. Bodham, 

The Castaway, . . . . 

Loss of the Royal George, 
Johnson, . . . . . 

Anningait and Ajut, ... 

Verses on the Death of Robert Levet, 
Grav, ..... 

Ode on the Spring, 

Verses on the Death of a Cat, 
Campbell, .... 

Lochiel's Warning, ... 
The Last Man, . . . . 

The Soldier's Dream, 
MlLSIAN, . . . . - 

Song of the Jews, 

Titus before Jerusalem, 

Javan's Lamentation, 

Ode to the Savioiu-, 
Samuel, ..... 

The Hebrew Mother, 

Syria, .... 

Thomas Moorb, . . . . 

God's Temple, ... 

The Kingdom Come, 
Mrs. Barbauld, . - . - 

Hymn, .... 

Helen Maria Williams, 

God seen in All, ... 

Babylon, .... 

Fairies, .... 

Fairies' Vagaries, . . • 

The Fairies' Grotto, 

What is Home? 

Instruction, ... 





PAoa 


. 


285 


Rogers, 


285 


Id. 


286 


• 


286 


. 


288 


rVolfe, 


288 


. 


290 


Cowper, 


291 


Id. 


291 


Id. 


292 


Id. 


293 


Id. 


294 


Id. 


294 


Id. 


296 


. 


297 


Johnson, 


298 


Id. 


304 


. 


303 


Gray, 


306 


Id. 


307 


. 


308 


Campbell, 


312 


. 


314 


Cam/ibell, 


316 


. 


317 


- JUilman, 


317 


Id. 


321 


Id. 


324 


Id. 


325 


- 


326 


Mrs Hemans, 


327 


Thomas Moore, 


330 


. 


331 


Moore, 


332 


Id. 


332 


. 


334 


Barbauld, 


334 


. - 


335 


Miss Williams, 


336 


Proctor, 


337 


. 


340 


Shakspeare, 


340 


Shenstone, 


342 


- Conder, 


343 


Bowring, 


344 



CONTENTS. 




VU 


Death's Final Conquest, • • • » 


• Shirley-, 


PAGB 

34.-. 


The Genius of Death, .... 


Cro/ij, 


340 


Verses to a Friend, .... jUra. 


John Hunter, 


340 


Lucv AlKlN, •-.... 


. 


348 


The Beggar Man, • • • • 


Miss JiiUin, 


343 


India, ...... 


Id. 


349 


The Swallow, ...... 


Id. 


350 


The Traveller's Return, .... 


.Anthology, 


344 


AMERICAN POETRY. 






William Cullbn Bryant, - • - * . 


. 


352 


Autumn Woods, ..... 


- Bryant, 


352 


Song of the Stars, . . . . . 


Id. 


355 


Rizpah, --..-.. 


Id. 


356 


Agricultural Ode, . . . . - 


Id. 


359 


Death of the Flowers, - • . . - 


Id. 


359 


FiTZ Green Hallbck, . . . . . 


- 


301 


Warco Bozzaris, - ... 


- HalUck, 


?0I 


Falls of the Passaic, . . . . . 


Irving, 


3(;3 


Fbisbie, ....... 




303 


Morning Hymn, ..... 


Frisbie, 


304 


Evening Hymn, ..... 


Id. 


305 


Oliver Wendell Holmes, . . . . 


- 


306 


Cambridge Church- Yard, ... 


- Holmts, 


306 


The Dorchester Giant, .... 


Id. 


309 


John Pierpont, ...... 


• 


371 


The Sparkling Bowl, . . . . . 


Pierpont, 


■67-2 


N. P. Willis, ...... 




374 


The Belfry Pigeon, 


miiis. 


374 


Dedication Hymn, ..... 


Id. 


375 


The Sabbath, - 


Id. 


370 


H. W. Longfellow, ..... 


- 


377 


The Skeleton in Armor, ..... 


LongfeUmc, 


378 


The VUlage Blacksmith, .... 


- Id. 


382 


Edward Everett, ...... 


• 


384 


Alaric the Visigoth, . . . . - 


Everett, 


384 


Jo«N G. Whittier, ...--• 


- 


387 


The Cypress-Tree of Ceylon, 


- Whittier, 


388 


Hannah F. Gould, ...... 


- 


390 


The Pebble and the Acorn, . . . • 


Oould, 


390 


The Frost, 


■ Id. 


392 


Charles F. Hoffman, - - . . - 


■ 


392 


The Forester, ...... 


Hoffman, 


393 


Legends, ....--- 


• 


394 


Christmas Times, ...•-• 


Moore, 


394 



PREFACE 



The superfluity of school-books which abeadj exists seems 
to make any further multiplication of them absurd, unless 
new ones should be better than the old, and it is somewhat 
presumptuous to suppose that a better than so many existing 
compilations can be furnished ; but as an instructor of young 
persons I have felt the want of elementary books different 
from those in common use, and therefore I have composed 
them. 

All that is new to a pupil stands in need of illustration, 
for without it his mind is rather overburthened than enriched 
by his acquirements. Oral instruction may furnish an en- 
lightened commentary upon what is contained in school- 
books : still it would diminish the labor of instruction if 
school-books themselves should not only afford the principal 
matter of instruction, but lead the young to inquiry, and 
supply the helps which the understanding needs in order to 
make the finest writers intelligible ; and it appears to me that 
ordinary school-books are whoUy deficient in this respect. 

It is a matter of self-gratulation to many that they were 
early made acquainted with the finest passages of English 
poetry, that these passages were safely stored in the memory 
before the imagination or the heart could be affected by their 
beauty, and that, in after life, when the higher powers have 
been cultivated, they could discover their inspiration and en- 
joyments to have grown not only from nature but knowledge. 

This is certainly true of many who have read Shakspeare 
and Milton as tasks^ or because they loved the sound of their 



X PREFACE. 

words — and that this fondness for the sound of poetry or 
eloquence does exist in young minds, before the subjects of 
either can be comprehended, may sometimes be observed. 
The writer has seen a boy of seven years listen to the pages of 
Burke with fixed and delighted attention, and has known a 
little girl, four years younger, as much excited and gratified 
by the reading of fine poetry — yet in both instances it was 
not a genuine comprehension of beauty, but an influence of 
sympathetic afiection. A parent's tastes, and animated 
pleasure, imparted this lively interest to the full- toned pe- 
riods of the orator, and the magic numbers of the poet. 
These early indications of taste and enthusiasm are rare. 
The greater part of young persons do not love literature, 
because they do not understand it — do not begin at the begin- 
ning. In our common schools, we formerly made children 
read disputes upon the comparative excellence of Reason and 
Revelation,* and required them to recite Pope's Messiah, 
the dialogue between Brutus and Cassius, and a multitude 
more of difficult passages from the poets. Our present 
practice, though it be less classical, dealing more in infe- 
rior authors, is not much better. I never knew a boy who 
could explain the first lines of the Messiah, or who could 
tell the matter of dispute between the complotters of 
Caesar's death — and only because boys are not instructed in 
elementary facts in relation to those pieces, or any others of 
their character. How repugnant this mode of cultivating 
literary taste is to some highly endowed minds is happily 
expressed by one whose memory, and whose genius in its 
creations, will endure for ever, 

• • • • "I abhorred 

Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake, 

The drilled dull lessons, forced down word by word 
In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record 

Aught that recalls the daily drug which turned 
Wy sickening memory ; and though Time hath taught 

My mind to meditate what then it learned, 

Yet such the fixed inveteracy wrought 

By the impatience of my early thought 

• See English Reader, Dialogue between Locke and Bayle. 



PREEACE. Xi 

That, with the freshness wearing out before 
My mind could relish what it might have sought 
If free to choose, I cannot now restore 
Its health ; but what it then detested, still abhor." 

In a note upon these lines tliis higli authority expresses all 
that I would say upon this subject. " I wish," says Lord 
Byron, " to express that we become tired of the task before 
we can comprehend the beauty ; that we learn by rote before 
we can get by heart ; that the freshness is worn away, and 
the future pleasure and advantage deadened and destroyed, 
by the didactic anticipation, at an age when we can neither 
feel nor understand the compositions which it requires an 
acquaintance with life, as well as Latin and Greek, to 
relish, or to reason upon. For the same reason we never 
can be aware of the fulness of some of the finest passages of 
Shakspeare, ('To be or not to be,' for instance,) from the 
habit of having them hammered into us at eight years old, 
as an exercise, not of mind but memory ; so that when we 
are old enough to enjoy them, the taste is gone, and the 
appetite palled. In some parts of the Continent, young per- 
sons are taught from more common authors, and do not read 
the best classics till their maturity." 

In conformity to these views, and my own experience in 
relation to education, I have endeavored to prepare a school- 
book, not, however, taking specimens from " common au- 
thors," but those suitable for my purpose, from the best. 
In order to compose it I resorted to the purest fountains of 
English verse. I left the more elevated and sublime portions 
of the poets who supplied me, and appropriated to my se- 
lection such passages only as I believed would, with a littlp 
exposition, be useful and agreeable to young readers. As a 
bird does not lead her new-fledged oiFspring to the skies in 
her first flight with them, so I would dictate short excursions 
to the unformed faculties of the human mind, that young 
readers, feeling their own power and fehcity as they proceed, 
may at length be able and willing, without assistance, to as- 
cend " the brightest heaven of invention." 

In the modes of education in present fashion, civil and po- 



Xa PREFACE. 

litical history is presented to young minds at an early period 
of study, but literary histoiy — the peaceful influence of mind 
upon mind — is wholly neglected ; and those who are initiated 
in the most remarkable passages of Shakspeare, Milton, and 
other great authors, are taught nothing at school of these 
memorable men and their contemporaries. It is a debt 
which posterity owes to genius, to attach the memory of the 
man to his works, and to keep him and his contemporaries 
in the view of succeeding ages. I had only sufficient space 
simply to introduce authors and their relations to contempo- 
rary society, but I intended to suggest this relation, to awaken 
inquiry, to give my readers some acquaintance with the 
history of English poets and poetry, and also to show them 
the relations of English poetry to the rest of then' intellectual 
pursuits. I hope my purpose will be effected, and that Poe- 
try for Schools will be acceptable to teachers and pupils. 

The preceding remarks were introductory to the former 
editions of this book, but they are as applicable to the edu- 
cation of the present as to that of any former time. 

This edition has been carefully revised, and is enriched 
by many specimens from the best American poets. Long- 
fellow, Holmes, Everett and other eminent names added to 
Bryant's, embellish its pages, and give to a collection of 
English poetry, the proud and beautiful addition of American 
nationality. 

Eliza Robbins. 

New York, January \st, 1850. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



NATURE OF POETRY. 

Whatever exists is divided into mind and matter. Phi- 
losophers do not accurately define the difference of mind 
and matter, but the body of animals, or living beings, which 
appears to die, and the " insensible clod " that we tread 
upon, are composed of matter. Every creature possessed 
of animal life, is, in some degree, "instinct with spirit" — 
endowed with some consciousness of wants, and some sense 
of supply and of enjoyment — this is intelligence. Intelli- 
gence in man, is called Mind. 

The minds of men are very different — some are wise, and 
others are foolish — some minds acquire great knowledge, 
and others only understand a few facts. Boys at school 
call others who are easily puzzled in arithmetic, or who are 
incapable of learning long lessons, dunces. Those who are 
capable of thinking with attention, who acquire knowledge 
readily, and who accurately remember what they have 
learned, are said to possess abilities ; and one, who besides 
learning his tasks with facility, can compose verses, or write 
a story of his own invention, possesses genius. Some men 
excel others as the hoy of genius excels the dunce. The 
genius and the dunce grow to be men, but they always 
remain the genius and the dunce. 

Genius is, properly, the talent of discovery — the talent 
in one mind of conceiving, and of displaying to others 
something previously unthought of. Genius is a capability 
to produce much advantage and pleasure to mankind. 
Genius may be very differently employed by different indi- 
viduals. Columbus was a man of genius. He manifested 
his genius when he meditated in one hemisphere of our 
globe upon another which had never been explored, when 



14 POETRV FOR SCHOOLS. 

hf. devised means to navigate unknown seas, and when he 
persevered in his great enterprise till he had accomplished 
it. Mr. Fulton, the mechanician, Avho applied the steam 
engine to navigation, was a man of genius. Benjamin West, 
the painter, was a man of genius. He painted many fine 
pictures, and among others, the subjects of which were 
taken from the gospel, " Christ healing the sick." In this 
picture, Mr. West represented in his gracious countenance 
the benevolence of Jesus, a variety of diseases in those who 
surrounded him, and the emotions of desire, hope, and grati- 
tude in those who expected to be, or who had been restored 
to health. The power to do all this so much surpasses the 
powers of common men that it serves for a clear illustration 
of genius. 

Bonaparte, who conquered in many battles, who, by his 
power of controlling other men, obtained the first magistracy 
in France, who, after dethroning kings in Europe, gave their 
kingdoms to his brothers, and who, having slain his thou- 
sands and tens of thousands, devised and effected practical 
improvements in the condition of living men, was eminently 
a man of genius ; though he is only to be admired and 
imitated so far as he effected or intended good to mankind. 
But there is another order of genius, — men, who having 
ceased to live still speak — who are known and honored for 
their thoughts when their actions are forgfotten, and with 
whom we may be familiar though we can never see them. 
These are the authors of books, who have recorded their 
beautiful ideas that others may be better, and wiser, and 
happier, than they could be without the intelligence suppli- 
ed from these divine minds. Shakspeare, who wrote the 
plays which almost every reader of the English language 
possesses, and Milton, the author of Paradise Lost, were 
men of this class of genius. 

We should be thankful to God that such men have ever 
lived ; they exalt our nature, and procure for us pleasures 
which we could not enjoy if some minds did not differ from 
others in glory. If we could not enrich our understandings 
with the thoughts of others, we should be like savages in 
ignorance, or like bees and beavers : men of no age would 
be moie cultivated or improved tlian their ancestors who 
lived centuries before them. 

The body has diff^i-ent, functions : eyes for seeing, ears 



NATURE OF POETRY, 16 

for hearing, &c. The mind also has its different operations. 
After we have been instructed in the nature of different 
objects, and have been taught their names, and the proper 
use of our senses, we learn to distinguish one substance 
from another, and we remember the qualities of these vari- 
ous substances ; thus, if a lighted lamp and a rose are set 
before us, we instantly compreliend that the lamp is an 
invention of art, and the rose a production of nature ; that 
the lamp is for use, and the rose for ornament ; that the 
lamp Jiame diffuses light and heat, and that the rose delights 
us by its beauty and its fragrance. 

The different properties of these objects, though they 
were first perceived by the senses of sight and smell, are 
comprehended by the mind. This consciousness of the 
presence of the lamp and the rose, given to the mind by 
sight and smell, is called a perception. We receive from the 
presence of these objects a certain feeling that they indeed 
exist and are before us. This exhibition to our minds of 
the lamp and the rose we call a demonstration, or certainty. 
We understand that the lamp and the rose are not alike — 
we then distinguish or compare them, and comprehend the 
different qualities of the two things. When we reflect, as 
we must, upon the different properties of these objects, we 
exert the power of comparing things, which is judgment. 

But suppose we did not see either of these objects, and, 
should read the following passages of poetry : 

" How far the little candle throws its beams," 

Shakspeare. 

And, 

" I will show you what is beautiful : it is a rose fully 
blown. See how she sits upon her mossy stem, like the 
queen of all the flowers. Her leaves glow like fire, and 
the air is filled with her sweet odor." — Barhauld. 

In reading the former passage we should immediately 
remember that in some dark night, while we were yet far 
from a house, we clearly perceived the light of a candle, 
and we knew the light to have proceeded from that candle 
to our eyes. We first knew this by a perception of the light, 
and we comprehend that the light was a candle flame, and 
not another thing, by our judgment. When we read of the 



16 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

extended reach of the candle beams, we know that the fact 
mentioned is true, because it has been demonstrated to us at 
a former time. The present certainty of formerly acquired 
knowledge is the memory of that knowledge. 

As we know how far the little candle throws its beams, so 
we also know that the properties of the rose are well de- 
scribed. With our eyes shut, and far from the candle or 
the rose, we comprehend the properties of both objects — 
we perceive them with the " mind's eye," as Shakspeare 
says. This mind's eye is the imagination. Before the 
imagination can be employed upon absent objects, that is, 
before we can think about, or reflect upon absent objects, 
we must exert the powers of Perception, Judgment and 
Memory. 

It is, then, by an effort of memory and of imagination that 
we form an idea of absent objects, and by imagination we 
comprehend what is written in books, or represented in pic- 
tures which exhibit beautiful images. The imagination of an 
ignorant person is not powerful ; he thinks almost always 
of objects before his eyes ; but the imagination of a fine 
poet is a noble faculty. The poet or the artist comprehends 
and feels more than other men ; and he makes others feel, 
in some measure, as he feels. The imagination of him who 
writes a fine poem, or a tale, produces invention, or the 
combination and composition of something new. 

The imagination of a well-instructed person, who perhaps 
can invent nothing, produces taste. Taste is the power of 
taking pleasure in something beautiful and elegant that may 
be presented to us. The same taste, or enjoyment of the 
beautiful, must exist in the mind of the wi iter of a poem or 
tale, or in the mind of an artist, as in that of a person who 
delights in reading a poem, or beholding a good picture. 
The synvpathy of taste makes the poet write — he expects to 
be admired ; and the same sympathy makes other persons 
admire and enjoy the works of genius. 

All that is written in books is literature. Literature is 
written language : it is divided mio prose and poetry. Quad- 
rupeds have four feet, is a prose sentence. 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air, 

is poetry. Poetry is generally written in verse. Veree is a 



NATURE OFPOETRY. lY 

certain measure or quantity of sound, expressed in words, 
at regular times, during the whole of a poem. This mea- 
sure, or metre, consists of a certain number of syllables in 
the printed lines of a poem. 

Heroic metre, which is the most usual kind, consists of 
lines of ten syllables. Pope's and Milton's works are chiefly 
written in this metre ; but Pope wrote in rhyme, and Milton 
principally in blank verse : — 

Soft as the wily fox is seen to creep, 

Where bask on sunny banks the simple sheep. 

Pope. 

Each of these lines consist of ten syllables , and the last 
words of each of them, "creep" and " sheep," rhyme lo 
each other ; that is, they resemble each other in sound. 

Ye mists and exhalations that now rise 
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray. 
Till the sun paints your fleecy skirts with gold. 

Milton 

Each of these lines also consists of ten syllables ; but 
though they are not in rhyme we easily distinguish them 
from prose. The difference consists in the choice of words, 
and in their arrangement, as may be perceived by reading 
the same words in an order different from that in which 
they are at present placed. 

AH verses are not written in lines of ten syllables ; some 
are written in eight, and some few in twelve ; indeed we 
meet with lines in poetry of every number of syllables from 
three to fourteen. 

In poetry words are not used literally, as for the most 
part, in prose. Snow is white, expresses what is literally 
true. — The words snow is white exactly express what we 
know to be true ; but, the golden sun diffuses his beams over 
the face of naiure is an expression altogether figurative. 
We understand not that the sun is gold, but that his yellow 
lustre resembles the appearance of gold. These words only 
signify that the sun shines upon the surface of the earth 
and the objects which are upon the earth. 

Truth describes something which really exists, as God 
made the world. Fiction describes something which might 

2* 



18 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

exist, cr has been supposed to exist, yet is not now really 
in existence. 

One of Gay's Fables begins, 

Remote from cities lived a swain. 

and proceeds to relate the conversation of a shepherd and 
a philosopher. There have been many shepherds and phi- 
losophers ; but probably none in particular even met, and 
held the conversation which Gay describes, yet a shepherd 
and philosopher might talk together in that manner. Gay's 
Shepherd and Philosopher is a Fable or Fiction. It is 
proper to distinguish between fiction and a lie. A fiction 
is an avowed invention ; a lie is a false declaration intended 
to deceive. 

English poetr}'^ includes the inventions of English poets, 
and their translations from other languages ; from Greek 
and Latin, and from the modern languages of Europe, be- 
sides a few from the oriental, or Asiatic languages. Our 
poetry (for whatever is written in the English language 
properly belongs to Americans who speak it), is divided 
into many kinds: the Sacred, Classical, Romantic, Drama- 
tic, (fee. Sacred Poetry relates to serious subjects, to the 
scriptures, and to the praise of God. Milton's Paradise 
Lost, and Watts's Hymns, are sacred poetry, and so are 
many parts of the Old Testament. Classical Poetry is 
that which has been translated from Greek and Latin. 
Pope's translation of Homer's Iliad, and Dryden's transla- 
tion of Virgil, are classical poetry. Romantic Poetry, or 
metrical romance, relates a tale in verse : as the Lady of the 
Lake, by Sir Walter Scott. Dramatic Poetry, is composed 
of poems in dialogue, or discourse of persons which relates 
a story : Shakspeare's Lear, and the tragedy of Douglas 
are of this class. 

In order to understand the greater part of poetry it is 
necessary to know something of Mythology and Classical 
Fable. A young reader may get this information from the 
Classical Dictionary, a book in very common use. Poetry 
which relates to fictions taken from the north of Europe 
alludes often to Scandinavian Mythology, or to the super- 
stitions of the more northern nations of Europe.* The writ- 

• For the whole subject of Mythology, see Elemeuta of Mythology, by tho 
Author of Poetry for Schools. 



NATDRE OF POETRY. 19 

ers of Romantic poetry often supply notes to their works 
whicli make their text very clear. 

The Epic poem relates a long- history of some great event. 
It has what is called the beginning, middle, and end of the 
action. The beginning is the cause of what follows ; the 
middle relates the progress, or carrying on of the action ; 
the end is its catastrophe, or finishing. Homer's Iliad is an 
Epic poem ; the story related in it is a war between the 
Princes of Greece and those of Troy. The cause of tlie 
war was the elopement of Helen, a Grecian princess, with 
a young Trojan. The war itself consisted of a sei-ies of 
engagements, or battles, between the Greeks and Trojans, 
which are described by Homer in many successive books 
of the Iliad. The catastnjphe, or end of the poem, is the 
death of Hector, the Trojan prince, who alone could defend 
Troy. The destruction of that city by the Greeks must be 
supposed immediately to follow. 

The Ode was perhaps originally designed to be sung. 
It is a poem usually addressed to some real or ideal per- 
sonage, or it celebrates some distinguished individual. 
Gray's Ode to Spring is addressed to the season of vSpring, 
upon the supposition that she is a female, endowed with 
the capacity of knowing what is addressed to her, and of 
answering the prayer of the poet. Dryden's Alexander's 
Feast is an ode which celebrates the music of the ancients, 
but it was first written to be recited or sung on St. Cecelia's 
Day. 

The Elegy is a melancholy poem written upon some sub- 
ject which of itself excites the feeling of sadness. The 
most popular and most beautiful elegy in our language is 
Gray's, upon a Country Churchyard. 

The Ballad is a narrative song. Ballads are usually 
composed among a rude people in the early ages of society, 
and after society becomes more highly civilized, some 
writers imitate the old ballads ; but in highly polished 
communities ballads are too simple to please as new and 
original ; to be interesting, they must refer to the manners 
of a past age. The Children in the Wood is a pretty bal- 
lad and well known. 

The Eclogue is a narrative, or descriptive poem, meant to 
exhibit the particular manners of some few individuals in a 
country. The Eclogue is often a conversation. One of 



20 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Collins's Eclogues, Hassan the Camel Driver, will be found 
in this collection. 

Satire, in its best character, is a moral lecture in verse — a 
censure upon something which is respected without deserving 
to be so — of some 2)erson who is generally approved, or of 
some prevailing conduct which is allowed without much 
blame. Satire endeavors to make its subject, whatever it is, 
contemptible. Satire is sometimes wholesome correction of 
what is wrong, and sometimes it is mean malignity ; the 
spirit which a Avriter of talents expresses against some 
person whom he ixnworthily hates. Juvenal's Satires from 
the Latin are translated into the English — they describe the 
corrupt manners of the people in Rome during the reigns of 
the emperors, Nero, Domitian, and Trajan. In English 
poetry Pope's and Young's Satires are of this description — 
they attack follies and persons ridiculous in their time. 
Satire is like a caricature, it diverts when first known, but 
unless it is very just and happy it soon ceases to give 
pleasure. 

The Epitaph is designed for a memorial of the dead, and 
is generally a few verses inscribed upon a tombstone. The 
following has been much admired. 

ON THE COUNTESS OF- PEMBROKE. 

Underneath this marble hearse 
Lies the subject of all verse. 
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother. 
Death, ere thou hast slain another. 
Fair, and learned, and good as she, 
Time shall throw a dart at thee. — Ben Jonson. 

This epitaph expresses very high praise. Before another 
so exalted by all merit as this lady was, should die, Death 
himself would cease to number his victims, for she surpass- 
ed all who should live after her. But this is hyperbole, or 
exaggeration. These lines are pretty, and epigravimat'ic, 
that is, the words have a variety of meaning, unexpectedly 
and happily presented to the mind of the reader ; but they 
are wanting in simplicxty. Simplicity is a single purpose. 
The epitaph not only praises Lady Pembroke, it intimates 
the dignity of her brother, Sir Philip Sidnej^ and of her 
son, the earl of Pembroke, and it disparages the rest of her 
sex by comparison with her ; — still it is, — (as we sometimes 



NA-TURK OF POETRY. 21 

apply this word to expressive languaore,) mry happy ; it 
conveys much in a few words. One of Mr. Pope's epitaphs 
is a very pure and beautiful tribute to a good woman, 

EPITAPH ON MRS. CORBET. 

Here rests a woman good without pretence, 
Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense, 
No conquest she but o'er herself desired, 
No art essayed, but not to be admired. 
Passion and pride were to her soul unknown. 
Convinced that virtue only is our own. 
So unaffected, so composed a mind. 
So firm, yet soft, so strong, yet so refin'd, 
Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures tried — 
The saint sustained it, but the woman died. 

The simplicity of this epitaph is perfectly obvious. 

The Epigram is a few verses expressing a perspicuous and 
pointed meaning, and it usually conveys a brief satire. Mild 
William Clarke, grandfather to Dr. Clarke the traveller, 
composed an epigram on seeing the inscription which is 
engraved over the family tomb of the Dukes of Richmond. 
The inscription is Domus ultima — in English, the last house, 
and the epigram, the following : — 

Did he who thus inscribed the wall 
Not read or not believe Saint Paul, 
Who says there is, where'er it stands. 
Another house not made with hands — 
Or may we gather from these words. 
That house is not a house of Lords ? 

The writer here intimates that something which suggests 
the idea of eternal life ought to be written over the place of 
the body's interment. St. Paul says, in the New Testa- 
ment, and alluding to the immortality of the soul, there is 
" a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." 
Our Saviour says, " in my Father's house are many man- 
sions," — many places suitable to be assigned to my follow- 
ers in a future state of existence. Mr. Clarke, who was a 
Christian, on seeing the tomb of the Lords of Richmond 
instantly thought of those other mansions of the dead ; and 
because this noble race thus appeared to regard the grave 
as their last rest, he meant at once to satirize and reprove 



22 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

their seeming unbelief, by insinuating, that perhaps the 
heavenly habitation mentioned by Paul would not suit the 
pride of Lords ; or that Lords, though they enjoy high 
honors on earth, might be excluded from an inheritance in 
heaven. 

Besides the kinds of poetry, that have been mentioned, 
there are the mock-heroic,, and the pastoral. The mock- 
heroic gives a fanciful importance to trivial things. The 
commencement of Cowper's Task is mock-heroic. The poet 
describes the progressive elegance of seats at different times 
in Britain. The whole passage is sprightly and amusing, i 

" Time was, when clothing sumptuous or for use. 
Save their own painted skins, our sires had none. 
As yet black breeches were not ; satin smooth. 
Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile : 
The hardy chief upon the rugged rock 
Washed by the sea, or on the gravelly bank 
Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud. 
Fearless of wrong, reposed his weary strength. 
Those barbarous ages past, succeeded next 
The birthday of invention ; weak at first, 
Dull in design, and clumsy to perform. 
Joint stools were then created ; on three legs 
Upborne they stood. Three legs upholding firm 
A massy slab, in fashion square or round. 
On such a stool immortal Alfred sat, 
And swayed the sceptre of his infant realms : 
And such in ancient halls and mansions drear 
May still be seen ; but perforated sore. 
And drilled in holes, the solid oak is found. 
By worms voracious eating through and through. 

At length a generation more refined 
Improved the simple plan ; made three legs four,. 
Gave them a twisted form vermicular. 
And o'er the seat with plenteous wadding stuffed. 
Induced a splendid cover, green and blue. 
Yellow and red, of tap'stry richly wrought 
And woven close, or needlework sublime. 
There might you see the piony spread wide. 
The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass, 
Lapdog and lambkin with black staring eyes. 
And parrots with twin chei-ries in their beak. 



NATURE OF POETRY. 23 

Now came the cane from India smooth and bright 
With Nature's varnish ; severed into stripes. 
That interlaced each other, these suppHed 
Of texture firm, a lattice work, that braced 
The new machine, and it became a chair. 
But restless was the chair ; the back erect 
Distressed the weary loins, that felt no ease; 
The slippery seat betrayed the sliding part 
That pressed it, and the feet hung dangling down. 
Anxious in vain to find the distant floor. 

These for the rich : the rest, w^hom Fate had placed 
In modest mediocrity content 
With base materials, sat on well tanned hides, 
Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smooth, 
With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn. 
Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion fixed, 
If cushion might be cali'd, what harder seemed 
Than the firm oak of which the frame was formed. 

No want of timber then was felt or feared 
In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood 
Ponderous and fixed by its own massy weight. 
But elbows still were wanting ; these, some say, 
An alderman of Cripplegate contrived ; 
And some ascribe the invention to a priest, 
Burly and big and studious of his ease. 
But rude at first, and not with easy slope 
Receding wide, they pressed against the ribs, 
And bruised the side ; and, elevated high, 
Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears. 

Long time elapsed or ere our rugged sires 
Complained, though incommodiously pent in, 
And ill at ease behind. The ladies first 
'Gan murmui', as became the softer sex ; 
Ingenious Fancy, never better pleased 
Than when employed to accommodate the fair 
Heard the sweet moans with pity, and devised 
The soft settee ; one elbow at each end. 
And in the midst an elbow it received, 
United yet divided, twain at once. 
So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne ; 
And so two citizens, who take the air, 
Close packed and smiling, in a chaise and one. 
But relaxation of the languid frame, 



24 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

By soft recumbency of outstretched limbs, 
Was bliss reserved for happier days. So slow 
The growth of what is excellent ; so hard 
To attain pei-fection in this nether woi'ld. 
Thus first Necessity invented stools, 
Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs. 
And Luxury the accomplished sofa last. 

Pastoral poetry, as the name indicates, describes the 
shepherd's life, and indeed many modes of rural occupation 
and pleasiu'e. In America we have no persons professedly 
devoted to the care of flocks, but in Asia and Europe, from 
time immemorial, this mode of life has been followed by 
considerable numbers. It is necessarily lonely and quiet, 
and disposes the mind to reflection. When Moses was a 
shepherd in Midian he saw the vision of God ; when the 
shepherds mentioned by St. Luke were " keeping watch 
over their flocks by night, the glory of the Lord shone 
round about them." 

There is something peculiarly innocent and interesting in 
the occupation of shepherds ; and the state of their minds, 
detached from the common business of life, may be suppos- 
ed to be highly favorable to poetic thought ; but notwith- 
standing this presumption, Pastoral Poetry is out of date — 
little read, and, at present, not at all written. Many 
English poets, from Chaucer to Shenstone, have written 
Pastorals. 

Poetry is descriptive when it exhibits the appearances of 
nature, — humorous when it would excite laughter, — pathetic 
when it induces the feelings of sadness and pity. When 
humorous poetry excites contempt for any object by 
assuming dignity of style in representing it we call it hur- 
lesque. 

It may be remarked that poetry does not consist merely 
of measured words, but of poetic ideas. Common business, 
whatever relates to gaining money, and to supplying the 
mere wants of the body, is not poetical. Whatever em- 
ploys the imagination without regard to bodily wants — God 
and his works, the mind and its pleasures, great actions of 
good men, the appearance of the heavens and the beauty of 
the earth, and the hopes and probable enjoyments of an- 
other life, are poetical subjects. There is a proper manner 
or style of writing upon these subjects, more dignified and 



NATURE OF POETRY. 25 

more refined than that which we use in ordinary writing : 
this is the poetic style, and it admits of ornaments which are 
explained by Rhetoric. Grammar informs us how to speak 
and write with propriety, Rlietoric instructs us to do both 
with elegance. 

Rules do not convey exact ideas of a just and beautiful 
style of writing ; they are useful but not sufficient. Good 
examples set before a writer, and good sense and good taste 
on his part, are necessary to make him write well ; and the 
careful and intelligent reading of the best books in his own 
language, is the best help which any young person can find 
to exalt and multiply his own ideas, or to create the power 
of expressing them with eft'ect upon others. 

The genius of a man determines Avhether he shall be a 
fine poet, an original artist, or an eloquent orator ; but 
genius does not determine whether whatever he does shall 
be done well or ill ; his education, his habits, and his own 
will, determine that. Industry and application of mind are 
the means of improving all the faculties. Taste consists in 
the knowledge of what is beautiful and proper, and in the 
love of it. If a young person be careless how he speaks and 
wiites, if his desire of excellence be no higher than to spell 
well, and to be amused by books, he has no chance of any 
high enjoyments derived from literature. A person really 
accomplished, capable of sustaining any eminence with 
honor, must know how to converse and to write well, and to 
form a correct judgment of the abilities of others in these 
respects. 

Perhaps there is no mortification more frequently felt 
than that of an embarrassed speech, a want of self-satis- 
fying power to give ready utterance of one's thoughts. 
This may be obviated by careful and early study, and by 
a habit of committing our ideas to writing. We ought to 
know what terms are suitable to ordinary discourse. A 
person who reads much becomes pedantic or bombastical, if 
he does not learn that the subjects and language of his 
books are somewhat distinct from the topics which spring 
up in common conversation ; but his conversation will be 
corrupted if he does not bear in mind the corrections which 
vulgar speech may take from an intimacy with good authors ; 
and his written compositions will not attain their suitable 
elegance unless he knows what is proper. 

3 



26 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

What is pi-ope)' is the style which the best writers have 
agreed to consider proper. The models of what is proper 
must be known — we must read poetry and prose in order 
to know them. We are not obhged exactly to imitate any 
style of writing. If we imderstand and love what we read, 
our minds will be conformed to the spirit of our reading ; 
and if we have judgment and the desire of excelling in 
whatever we do, we may improve upon the manner of 
others. No artist could have formed the statue of a r/od 
who had never seen a man ; but having seen and studied the 
human figure, images far surpassing the beauty of any indi- 
vidual man have been formed. Books are in every house ; 
instruction lifts up her voice everywhere ; we have nothing 
to do but to read, to listen, to think of these things, and to 
elevate ourselves above " the vulgar flight of low desire," to 
be all that we ought to be. 

Poetry is so happily adapted to our faculties that its con- 
struction catches the ear instantly, it fastens upon the mind, 
assimilates our thoughts to its suggestions, and is held more 
tenaciously in the memory than any other part of our know- 
ledge which is not connected with the mere preservation of 
life. The pleasure it affords as a luxury of ima^nation is 
incalculable, and as a purifying influence upon the heart and 
life, its moral benefit is beyond estimation. We cannot love 
things high and holy, and things mean and unworthy, at 
the same time. Poetry utters the oracles of God ; she is 
the voice of wisdom: let us seek for instruction from her 
inspiration. She is the handmaid of religion, her flights 
are upward, and her dwelling place is Heaven : let us 
follow whither she will lead us — there is the throne of the 
Almighty, and there is the intelligence of angels, there will 
be the last growth of our minds, and there the highest felicity 
of our nature. 



FIGURES OF SPEECH. 

Figures of speech are, properly, ornaments of written 
language, embellishments of thought, and illustrations of 
fact ; associated ideas brought before the mind of a writer 
or speaker, and exhibited to other minds, in order to set off 
or adorn some primary object of thought : thus, 



FIGURES OF SPEECH. 27 

The rose, with feeble streak 

So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek, 

That you had said her hue was pale, &c. 

Rokeby, Canto iv. 

The primary, or first idea in this example, is the delicate 
glow of Matilda's cheek ; the associated idea is the pale red 
of a faintly-colored rose. The idea of the rose serves to 
convey to the mind of a reader the idea of the tint of Ma- 
tilda's cheek, by inducing a conij)arison between the two 
objects — that is, by making him think of both at the same 
time. Figures of speech are very impressive illustrations of 
ideas, when the figure is suitable to the primary idea. 
From the print of an elephant, as he may sometimes be seen 
in books, one who had never seen an elephant could not 
form a just notion of his size ; but if the figure of a man, 
in proper proportion, should be placed near that of the 
elephant the greater magnitude of the latter would be 
obvious ; and by comparing the two objects a tolerably 
correct notion of their relative bulk might be formed. 
The figure of a man serves for an illustiation of that of 
the elephant. In a similar way the image or thought 
presented to the mind by a figure of speech illustrates, 
or makes plain, some original or fore-mentioned idea. 

A simile, or comparison, is a figure of speech. It shows 
one thing, or circumstance, to be like another. The latter 
subject of the comparison illustrates the former part. Here 
is a simile taken from Parnell's Hermit : — 

Then pleased and thankful from the porch they go. 
And, but the landlord, none had cause of wo ; 
His cup was vanished : for in secret guise, 
The younger guest purloined the glittering prize. 

As one who spies a serpent in his way. 
Glistening and basking in the summer ray, 
Disordered stops to shun the danger near, 
Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear — 
So seemed the sire, when, far upon the road. 
The shining spoil his wily partner showed. 

The propriety of this simile, detached from the story to 
which it belongs, is not quite clear. From the porch they 
go — -vyho go ? An old hermit, and a young man, his com- 



28 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

panion, who are travelling on foot. The time is morning, 
and they have just left the hospitable mansion of a rich 
man to whom they were strangers, but in whose house 
they had fared sumptuously the night before. Wine was 
presented to them in a valuable silver cup which the 
younger, at his departure, stole, and soon after showed to 
the hermit. The virtuous old man, struck with the dis- 
honesty and ingratitude of the youth, regards him with the 
horror he would have felt at the siglit of a venomous snake 
suddenly discovered in his path. The danger of being 
attended by a wicked companion, and the detestation felt by 
the good at a treacherous action, are forcibly suggested by 
the image of the danger and terror which any person 
would be in at the sudden appearance of so frightful a 
reptile. 

A Metaphor is an expression used as a simile ; but it sub- 
stitutes one thing for another, and speaks of the illustra- 
tion as being the thing compared with it : thus — God is 
the rock of ages, is a Metaphor. The meaning of this is, 
God is like a rock — a fiiin immove-able foundation for human 
trust in every age. We readily understand this species of 
comparison. Here is a fine metaphor from the poetry of 
Thomas Moore ^ 

• " • The fresh huoyant sense of being 
That bounds in youth's yet careless breast. 
Itself a star not borrowing light 
But in its own glad essence bright. 

Metmiymy is a figure in which one name is put for 
another, on account of some relation between the thing 
named, and that understood ; or some resemblance between 
the original implied and the individual whose name is sub- 
stituted for his : as, we call a wise man, a Franklin, and a 
base one, a Catiline. Such a Metonymy as this, is a sort of 
comparison. When the name of a place is used to convey 
the idea of its inhabitants, the expression is Metonymy : as 
when we say " the resources of Britain are immense," we 
mean, the resources of the people of Britain. 

A Synecdoche puts the whole for a part, or a part for tlie 
whole, as. 

Thy growing virtues justified my cares. 
And oromised comfort to my silver hairs. 

Pope's Homei: 



5-1 CURES OF SPEECH. 29 

The silver hairs signify the old age of the speaker. 

An Hyperbole is a figure that goes beyond the bounds of 
strict truth, and represents things as much greater, better, 
or worse, than they really are. 

Sir Walter Scott says of Ellen in the Lady of the Lake : 

E'en the light hare-bell lifts its head 
Elastic from her airy tread. 

This is Hyperbole. Ellen was lively and light, but her 
footprints must have broken the tender herb. However, 
Ave understand this to be poetic license, and admire the 
delicate illustration of her slight form and animated motion. 
Poetic license signifies the liberty permitted to poets to 
exceed the literal limits of truth. 

Irony is common to poetry and prose ; it is an expression 
of one idea, when we would convey the idea of its oppo- 
site extreme : thus, in common conversation, in order to 
ridicule his choice, we say, when we think a friend has pre- 
ferred an inferior to a better thing " / admire your taste." 
In Scott's Rokeby two assassins are described wa.tching 
their intended victims ; one of them approaches a young 
man whom he fears, and when he discovers who he is sud- 
denly withdraws ; upon this his companion laughs grimly, 
and says : 

A trusty mate art thou, to fear 
A single arm, and aid so near. 

Interrogation is asking a question. When the interroga- 
tion is made in writing, or public speaking, no reply is 
expected. It is used to induce the hearer to reflect with 
attention, and answer to his own reason if the speaker's 
argument be not just and forcible. 

When Habakkuk, the Hebrew prophet, forewarns his 
countrymen of God's vindictive' justice, that is, his punish- 
ment of their sins, which had been revealed to him, and of 
which he speaks as if it were past, he says : 

Was the Lord displeased against the rivers? 
Was thy wrath against the sea. ? 

An obvious answer would be, No. God is not displeas- 
ed with the rivers, nor angry against the sea; but he 



30 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

woimds the head of the wicked, and as a whirlwind, he 
scatters the nations that offend. 

Exclamation is little more than a cry — a sudden, broken 
expression of surprise, pleasure, contempt, indignation, or 
pain. The Duke, in Shakspeare's Twelfth Night, relieving 
his melancholy with music, exclaims, 

That strain again ! it had a dying fall ! 
Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 
That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
Stealing and giving odor. 

This example of exclamation from Shakspeare, expresses 
raiiture — unexpected, lively delight. 

Climax is the enumeration of many particulars in one 
period or whole sense, intended to produce one effect of 
persuasion or conviction in the minds to which it is address- 
ed. In climax or gradation the most important idea of the 
whole assemblage is the last mentioned. From the begin- 
ning to the end of the chmax it is proper that each particu- 
lar enumerated should rise in dignity of sense above the 
preceding. 

The following is an example of Climax from the Spec- 
tator : 

Mr. Addison has a beautiful climax of circumstances 
arisinfj one above another, when he is describincf the treat- 
ment of negroes in the West Indies, who sometimes, upon 
the death of their masters, or upon changing their service, 
hang themselves upon the next tree. 

' Who can forbear admiring their fidelity, though it 
expresses itself in so dreadful a manner ? Wliat might 
not that savage greatness of soul, which appears in these 
poor wretches on many occasions, be raised to, were it 
rightly cultivated ? and what color of excuse can there be 
for the contempt with which we treat this part of our 
species ? That we should not put them upon the common 
foot of humanity ; that we should only set an insignificant 
fine upon the man who murders them, nay, that we should, 
as much as in us lies, cut them off from the prospects of 
happiness in another world as well as in this, and deny 
them that which we look upon as the proper means for 
attaining it?' 



FIGURES OF SPEECH. 31 

Here Mr. Addison first mentions the virtues of the poor 
negroes, and then contrasts the cruel treatment of white 
men with their deserts. This cruel treatment in fact is this : 
We — Mr. Addison meant the Europeans, but his remarks 
apply to some Americans of the present age — We, says he 
in effect, deny them to possess the understandings of men ; 
we consider them brute animals ; we do not punish their 
murderers ; and we not only deprive them of liberty and 
the sympathies that exist between man and man in this 
world, but we refuse to consider them as immortal beings, 
and withhold from them the knowledge necessary to their 
salvation. It is very plain that the last articles of this 
passage — the immortal soul, and its final happiness in hea- 
ven — are considerations of greater magnitude, in regard to 
the negro character, the abuse it has suffered, and the re- 
dress that the author here claims for it, than any he had 
previously detailed. 

This example is not taken from poetry, but Climax is a 
figure which occurs in poetry. Anticlimax is often used 
as to denote a foolish representation of facts, which exag- 
gerates the unimportant, and gives the least regard to the 
more important particulars under consideration. 

Apostrophe is an abrupt address to the absent. It some- 
times partakes of the character of personification : as St. 
Paul, in holy rapture, exclaims, 

" Oh, Grave ! where is thy victory ? Oh, Death ! where 
is thy sting ?" 

The Minstrel in Scott's Lay, breaks out, at the thought 
of his beloved country, into this apostrophe : 

Caledonia, stern and wild. 

Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, 

Land of the mountain and the flood. 

Land of my sires ! what mortal hand 

Can e'er untie the filial band 

That knits me to thy rugged strand ! 

Personification is the investing of qualities, or things in- 
animate, with the character of persons, or the introducing 
of dead or absent persons as if they were alive and pre- 
sent. 

The following example of the figure of personification is 



32 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

from Milton's Comus. The poet personifies "Virtue, Wis- 
dom, and Contemplation : 

Virtue could see to do what virtue would 

By her own radiant light, though sun and moon 

Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self 

Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, 

Where with her best nurse, Contemplation, 

She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, 

That in the various bustle of resort 

Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired. 

Cowper has personified Winter, as the 

" King of intimate delights. 



Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness" — 

and has introduced him in a very picturesque description : 
thus, 

Winter, ruler of the inverted year, 

Thy scattered hair with sleet like ashes filled, 
Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks 
Fringed with a beard made white with other snows 
Than those of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds, 
A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 
A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, 
But urged by storms along its slippery way, — 

1 love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, 
And dreaded as thou art ! 

Allegory/ is a prolonged use of figures, so connected in 
sense as to form a parable, or fable. Gray's Ode to Ad- 
versity is an allegory. 

ODE TO ADVERSITY. 

Daughter of Jove, relentless power, 

Thou tamer of the human breast. 
Whose iron scourge and torturing hour 

The bad aff"right, afflict the best ! 
Bound in thy adamantine chain. 
The proud are taught to taste of pain, 
And purple tyrants vainly groan 
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. 



FIGURES OF SPEECH. 33 

When first thy sire to send on earth 

Virtue, his darling child, designed, 
To thee he gave the heav'nly birth 

And bade to form her infant mind. 
Stern rugged nurse ! thy rigid lore 
With patience many a year she bore : 
What sorrow was, thou badst her know, 
And from her own she learned to melt at others' wo. 

Scared at thy frown terrific, fly 

Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, 
Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless joy. 

And leave us leisure to be good. 
Light they disperse ; and with them go 
The summer friend, the flattering foe ; 
By vain prosperity received. 
To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. 

Wisdom in sable garb arrayed. 

Immersed in rapturous thought profound, 
And Melancholy, silent maid, 

With leaden eye that loves the ground. 
Still on thy solemn steps attend : 
Warm Charity, the general friend. 
With Justice, to herself severe. 
And Pity, dropping soft the sadly pleasing tear. 

Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head, 

Dread Goddess, lay thy chast'ning hand ' 
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, 

Not circled with the vengeful band 
(As by the impious thou art seen) 
With thundering voice, and threatening mien, 
With screaming horror's funeral cry. 
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty : 

Thy form benign, oh Goddess ! wear. 

Thy milder influence impart. 
Thy philosophic train be there 

To soften, not to wound my heart. 
The generous spark extinct revive, 
Teach me to love, and to forgive. 
Exact my own defects to scan. 
What others are to feel, and know myself a man." 



34 POETRY FORSCHOOLS. * 

Mr. Gray has thus personified Misfortune or Adversity. 
He has represented her as the daughter of the supreme 
Deity, but employed to affright the bad, and afflict the best 
men — " Whom he loveth, he chasteneth," or purifieth, say 
the Hebrew Scriptures. Perhaps this excellent poet had 
this passage in his mind when he wrote this stanza. " Sweet 
are the uses of adversity," says Shakspeare, and so has 
Gray represented them. " By the sadness of the counte- 
nance, the heart is made better," says Solomon. Taught 
by our sufferings, we learn to pity others ; we abandon our 
follies, and gain leisure to be good. When we are in afflic- 
tion, the sordid, and the frivolous, who shared the pleasures 
of our prosperity, forsake us ; but our virtues — wisdom, 
meditation, charity, justice, and pity, remain with us, and 
console us. The poet having asserted this, changes the 
form of his verses to apostrophe, and entreats the goddess, 
as he terms Adversity, to spare him from the severest in- 
flictions of her hand, and to purify and exalt his heart. 
Young persons should commit these fine verses to memory. 

Antithesis is a figure by which words and ideas very dif 
ferent, or contrary, are placed together, in contrast or oppo- 
sition, that they may mutually set off and illustrate each 
other. 

In Blair's Sermon on Gentleness, the annexed example 
of Antithesis may be found : 

" As there is a worldly happiness which God perceives to 
be no more than disguised misery ; as there are woildly 
honors which in his estimation are reproach : so there is a 
worldly wisdom which in his sight is foolishness. Of this 
worldly wisdom the characters are given in the Scriptures, 
and placed in contrast with those of the wisdom which is 
from above. The one is the wisdom of the crafty ; the 
other that of the upright : the one terminates in seljishness; 
the other in charity : the one is full of strife and bitter 
envyings ; the other of mercy and of good fruits." 

The antithetical words of this passage are printed in 
italics — happiness and misery, honor and reproach, ivisdom 
and foolishness, are ideas in direct opposition — and the re- 
maining antitheses of the period are, it is presumed, quite 
as clear. 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH POETRY. 

Young persons at all instructed in modern history know 
that the Enoflish lanejuacre is formed from several more 
ancient lanouages. The Romans carried the Latm mto 
Britain half a century before the birth of Christ. About 
five hundred years after, the Saxons, a warlike people from 
Germany, succeeded the Romans as masters of England, 
and, with their dominion, introduced and established their 
speech. The language of England for several centuries 
was what is called the Anglo Saxon, but this was super- 
seded, in great measure, by tlie Norman French. 

In 1066, William, Duke of Normandy, conquered Eng- 
land, and established his power in the country. He 
brought with him a multitude of followers whom he dis- 
tributed over the kingdom, and caused the laws to be 
announced in the Norman French. This language grad- 
ually combined itself with the previous dialect of England, 
and our English language, by slow degrees, was formed 
from these several languages. 

The Anglo-Saxons were not wholly without hterature ; 
they had wandering minstrels who sung verses, and in their 
convents some of the priests composed in rhyme. The 
Normans brought to England their own poetry, which con- 
sisted chiefly of songs, satires, morality, and rhyming 
chronicles. In the twelfth century, the Crusades, or reli- 
gious wars, carried on by the Europeans in Palestine, fur- 
nished romantic adventures which the poets rehearsed in 
verse ; and at the same time, narrative poems from Scrip- 
ture, and classical subjects began to appear in England. 
In the thirteenth century it became customary for the 
minstrels to " sing devotional strains to the harp on Sun- 
days, for the editication of the people, instead of the 
verses on gayer subjects which were sung at public enter- 
tainments." 

The first original poem of any extent in the English 
language is ascribed to Robert Langlande, a priest. It 
describes the Christian life, and the abuses of religion under 
the authority of the Pope. It is to the honor of poetry 

35 



36 POETRY !■ O K S C H O L S . 

that among the first efforts of her power over a partially 
civilized people slie should fearlessly utter the dictates of 
truth, undismaj'ed by arbitrary princes, and selfish priests. 
" The mind," says Mr. Campbell, speaking of Langlande, 
•' is struck with his rude voice, proclaiming independent 
and popular sentiments, from an age of slavery and super- 
stition, and thundering a prediction in the ear of papacy ; 
which was doomed to be literally fulfilled at the dis- 
tance of nearly two hundred years. His allusions to 
contemporary life afforded some amusing glim[)ses of its 
manners." 

The earliest English poet whose remains are still pre- 
served to popular readers is Geoffrey Chaucer. He died in 
1400. It would not be suitable to the design of this little 
sketch to descant upon a poet whose works few young 
persons would have the patience to read. But with a little 
pains matured readers may make the obsolete language of 
Chaucer intelligible. The very lively pictures which his 
■writings afford of the manners and sentiments peculiar to 
his time, are interesting to those that love to look far back 
into the dim region of the past, and behold there stars of 
mind which shine for ever and ever. 

During almost two centuries after the death of Chaucer 
civil wars and religious persecutions silenced the muse in 
England. Some obscure names of this period attached 
to poetry may be drawn from oblivion by the antiqua- 
ries, but the poetical feehng and genius of England are 
regarded by Mr. Campbell to have been at that time almost 
extinct. 

In the fifteenth century printing was introduced into Brit- 
ain. The desire of knowledge is excited in the public mind 
by the means of obtaining it, and it would seem that Divine 
Providence has adjusted the productiveness of genius to the 
estimation in which it is held. Whenever the people become 
eager for instruction, or for entertainment, Wisdom is heard 
crying in the streets, and the sweet strains of poetry seem 
to mingle in the common air that we breathe. In the six- 
teenth century the Scriptures were given to the people of 
England, learning was cultivated, and poetiy revived ; and 
as society was iinpioved genius was developed and honor- 
ed. Of this influence of society upon poetic genius, Mr. 
Campbell says : 

" Poets may be indebted to the learning and philosophy 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH POETRY. 37 

of their age, ■without being themselves men of erudition 
or philosophers. When the fine spirit of truth has gone 
abroad, it passes insensibly from mind to mind, independ- 
ent of its direct transmissions from books ; and it comes 
home in a more welcome shape to the poet, when caught 
from his social intercourse with his species, than from 
solitary study." 

Lord Surrey lived in the reign of Henry VTII., and was 
the inventor of blanJc verse. In the reign of Queen Ehza- 
beth, and of her successor, James I, lived Shakspeare, Ben 
Jonson, and Spenser. Spenser, the author of the Fairy 
Queen, is now very much praised, and very little read. 
His subjects are partly allegorical, and partly in representa- 
tion of persons of his own age. On account of this con- 
fusion and obscurity in liis poetry, it may be that Spenser 
is more studied by poets than by general readers. Jonson 
is hardly more popular, but " ever}^ body's Shakspeare" 
now in universal estimation, wears, and will wear in the 
eyes of all posterity, his laurels fresh and green as ever. 
Shakspeare's appearance as a dramatist can be traced back 
to 1589, and the Fairy Queen was published in 1590. 

English Poetry comprehends the Drama. Mysteries, 
Moralities, and Interludes, are names of the dramatic rep- 
resentations, known in England previous to Shakspeare's 
time. The Mysteries were religious shows, exhibited to the 
people under the sanction of tlie ministers of religion. The 
Resurrection of Lazarus, and the Sepulture of our Lord, 
were among these representations. They were in fashion 
in England during four hundred years, and went out of 
vogue in the middle of the sixteenth century. 

The MoraHsts dramatized moral subjects, and sometimes 
represented discoveries in science. An Interlude on the 
nature of the four elements, and The Tracts of America 
lately discovered, and the manners of the natives, is record- 
ed among the last of these entertainments. It is obvious 
that when men, generally, could not read, these represen- 
tations might have been very instructive. 

Greek and Latin tragedies were translated into English 
as early as 1566. During the last twenty years of the 
sixteenth century, play-writers by profession were common, 
but their names and works have now, for the most part, 
become insignificant. Ben Jonson's plays exhibit much 
learning and wit — they are still read, but are rarely exhi- 

4. 



BS POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

bii-ed upon the stage. Among his works are specimen* 
of that poetic and tasteful drama, the Masque. Milton's 
Comus is a masque, and Percy's Masque, by Mr. Hill- 
house, which was written about 1820 in America, is a 
masque. 

Poetic translation commenced in England about 1560. 
The poetry of Virgil, Ovid, and soon afterward of Homer,, 
was translated into English verse near this time. Dr. 
Johnson commences his Lives of the Poets with the life of 
Cowley, and classes him with Donne, Waller, and some 
other poets who had lived during the preceding century : 
these were the metap]ii/f>ical 2ioets. Their works exist in old 
books, but they are only known to curious readers. 

Shakspeare stands at the head of English poets, and 
next in eminence is the divine Milton: Milton died in 1G74, 
at the age of G2. In his early life Milton felt that he was. 
born for postei'ily and all time, and in the consciousness of 
his endowments his elevated mind was little disturbed bv 
the neglect of his contemporaries. For almost a century 
after tiie publication of his minor works they were little 
known ; and Paradise Lost, which appealed in print in 
1669, after its author had become blind to external things, 
attracted little of tlie admiration which it has since called 
forth. 

Among British poets next to Milton in the order of time 
comes Dry den. Gray describes Milton and Dryden in these 
lines : 

• * • • He, that rode sublime 

Upon the seraph wings of Ecstasy, 

The secrets of th' Abyss to spy. 

He passed the flaming bounds of Space und Time, 

The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze, 

Where Angel's tremble while they gaze, 

He saw ; but, blasted with excess of light. 

Closed his eyes in endless night. — 

Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car 

Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear 

Two coursers of etherial race, 

With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace. 
Hark, his hands tlie lyre explore ! 

Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, 

Scatters from her pictured urn 

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH POETRY. 39 

Dry den's plays and poems are not much read, though 
Alexander's Feast still retains its po[mlanty, and almost 
every school-boy can repeat it. Dryden died in IVOO. 

Pope died in 1744. For a wliole century Mr. Pope was 
perhaps the most popular of English poets ; and though 
his moral and religious sentiments were censured by the 
rigidly righteous, still they have passed into the principles 
and common talk of most readers. " As Pope says," is a 
phrase which is often prefixed in conversation to a multi- 
tude of pointed remarks tliat are found in Mr. Pope's 
writings, and readily applied by almost every mind to the 
practical wisdom of daily life. 

Whate'er by nature is in worth denied 

She gives in large recruits of needful pride. 

Trust not thyself — thy own defects to know 
Make use of every friend, and every foe. 

True wit is nature to advantage dressed — 

That oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed. 

'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call. 
But the joint force and full result of all. 

Man, like the generous vine, supported, lives — 
The strength he gains is from the embrace he gives. 

Reason's whole pleasures, all the joys of sense. 
Lie in three words. Health, Peace, and Competence. 

Such are a few of those couplets which are become almost 
common-place, but which express important principles with 
admirable simplicity and plainness. 

Among the contemporaries of Pope were several poets 
much in fashion during their lives, and of whose works 
some are yet popular. Of these Addison, Swift, Gay, 
and Parnell deserve to be mentioned. The respect- 
ive characters of these writers, and their works, may be 
learned from sources more ample than this brief notice of 
English poetry and poets. 

After the death of Pope, Thomson, Collins, Shenstone, 
Akenside, Graj^ and Goldsmith, were much and deserv- 
edly admired as English poets. Goldsmith, the last in the 
order in which they are mentioned, died in 1774. The 
genius of each, differing as they do from one another in 



40 POETRY FORSCHOOLS. 

glory, is " essentially immortal," still exerts its sweet in- 
fluence, and gathers increase of honors from successive 
years. 

Cowper died in 1800. His poetry is in every house. It 
is without spot or blemish, inspired by the genius of Chris- 
tianity, full of humanity and piety, tender and holy as the 
writer's heart, and beautiful as the rural sights and sounds 
which delighted his pure nature. Since Cowper, Rogers, 
Walter Scott, Soutbey, Crabbe, Campbell, Byron, Words- 
worth, and Moore have appeared in the world. In no 
period since the existence of our language has such extend- 
ed homage been paid to living poets as in the present 
century. The legends of Scotland are made familiar and 
inexpressibly interesting, all over the world, by the min- 
strelsy of Scott — the valleys of America are brought out 
of obscurity by the genius of Campbell — the " gorgeous 
east " glitters in the pictured pages of Moore — 

Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep. 
Isles that crown the Egean deep, 
Fields that cool lUysus laves, 

have again breathed their inspiration, and the British name 
of Byron is now associated with the birth-place of all the 
muses. The talent of Southey has celebrated the chivalry 
of Spain ; and the rural life of England, in all its forms of 
good and evil, has been recorded for ever by the masterly 
hands of Crabbe and Wordsworth. 

Nothing like criticism upon the several works of these 
authors, can be useful to young readers. Read first, judge 
afterwards. All that is contained in this volume, is col- 
lected to inspire love for the pursuit of literature, and to 
make it agreeable by making it intelligible. Young persons 
are here introduced to a commvmity of the most venerable 
and gifted minds that ever lived, and they are invited to 
assimilate their moral nature by purity of heart and of 
thought, to this goodly fellov/ship ; — and to the reposito- 
ries of their heavenly fancies, repairing " as to their foun- 
tain," thence to draw light that shall not grow dim with 
age, but shine brighter and brighter to the perfect day of 
their intellectual progress. 

Various changes that the language has undergone are 
exhibited by English poetry. Our language has not 



HISTORY OP ENGLISH POETRY. 41 

always been written as it now is. English grammars and 
dictionaries were not in general use till the latter half of 
the last century ; before that time, however, good English 
writers nearly ixgrecd in their orthography and gramraat'.cal 
construction, and fiom their practice, in respect to ortho- 
graphy and grammar, our rules are principally taken. 

Here follow four specimens of English poetry, written at 
different times. The first is from Chaucer : 

Emilie, that fayrer was to sene 



Then is the lilie upon his stalk grene, 
And fresher than the May with floures newe, 
(For with the rose colour strof hire hewe, 
I n'ot which was the finer of hem two.) 
Ere it was day, as she was wont to do, 
She was arisen, and all redy dight : 
For May wol have no slogardie a-night. 
The season priketh every gentil herte, 
And maketh him out of his sleep to sterte. 
And sayth, arise, and do thin observance. 

Chancers Kfiighte's Talc, verses 1037—1048. 

If a school boy of the present time should alter these 
verses after his own habits, and preserve the words as 
nearly as possible, he would write them thus: 

Emilie, that fairer was to see 

Than is the lily upon his stalk green. 
And fresher than the May with flowers new, 
(For with the rose color strove her hue, 
I know not which was finer of them two.) 
Ere it was day, as she was wont to do. 
She was arisen, and already drest : 
For May will have no sluggishness of night. 
The season pricketh every gentle heart. 
And maketh him out of his sleep to start, 
And saith, arise, make thy morning prayer. 

Spenser published the Faery Queene in 1590— one 
hundred and ninety years after Chaucer died. The fol- 
lowing description of a fine lady's ornaments and equipage 
is taken for the Faery Queene : 

Hee had a faire companion of his way, 
A goodly lady clad in scarlet red, 
4 



42 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS- 

Purfled with gold and pearle of rich essay ; 
And like a Persian mitre on her head 
She wore with crowns and owches garnished ; 
The which her lavish lovers to her gave. 
The wanton palfrey all way overspread 
With tinsel trappings woven like a wave, 
Whose bridle hung with golden bells and bosses brave. 

Fairy Queen, Canto II., verse 13, 

This is not so simple a description, not so easy to be 
understood, nor does it present so beautiful an image, as 
that of the sweet Emilie — rising with the dawn, and going 
forth among the flowers of May, — "herself the fairest 
flower," as the poet Milton afterwards said of Eve in Para- 
dise. Chaucer's lady is lovely in herself, but Spenser's 
fair one is thought much less of than the splendor with 
which she is attired and mounted. A fine woman dressed 
in a robe of scarlet, adorned with pearls and gold lichly 
wrought, wearing a splendid crown, and governing a noble 
horse, himself covered with cloth of silver, and reined 
with a glittering and tinkling bridle, may be looked at for 
a moment with pleasure ; but not with the same satisfaction 
as she must be i"egarded, whose beauty is the expression 
of gracefulness, modesty, and kindness. 

The next specimen shows the progress of our language, 
and teaches the very lesson that a moral comparison be- 
tween the preceding ones may do. It was written but a 
few years after that of Spenser. The author, Ben Jonson, 
died^iesY. 

Give me a look, give me a face 
That make simplicity a grace. 
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : 
Such sweet neglect more taketh me 
Than all the adulteries of art, — 
They strike my eyes and not my heart. 

The following specimen, written in 182T, is like the 
orthography of that which preceded it two hundred years : 

'Tis eve, the soft, the purple hour, 
The dew is ghstening on the bower ; 
The lily droops its silver head. 
The violet slumbers on its bed ; 



SPENSER, 43 

Heavy with sleep the leaflets close, 

Veiling thy bloom, enchanting rose. 

Still gazing on the western ray 

The last sweet worshipper of day, — Croly. 

English poetry is not confined to the British dominions — 
our western world has produced poets whose memory will 
be proof " 'Gainst death, and all oblivious enmity" — whose 
verses embellish these pages, and whose talents we should 
cherish with sentiments of pride and pleasure. 

EDMUND SPENSER. 

Spenser is the earliest English poet whose writings afford 
any specimens suitable to this collection. English History 
furnishes an interesting and useful subject of study to tlie 
young scholar if it afford him just views of English 
■mind. If history describes those only who have conquered 
certain armies, who have devastated countries, or who have 
built towns and forts, it informs us of little that is useful 
and improving. But it is delightful to learn from history 
that wise men have arisen in a nation after long periods of 
general ignorance, — deliglitful to read the works which 
during centuries have made one generation of men after 
another, wiser and better, — delightful to turn from the bar- 
barous triumphs of mad ambition and physical force to the 
dominion of intellect, and to enrich the understanding by 
the genius of others, who have refined and exalted society 
ever since they came into being. 

Queen Elizabeth succeeded to the throne of Britain in 
1558. Elizabeth was attached to the Protestant faith, made 
it the national religion, cultivated learning herself, and cher- 
ished genius in others. Shakspeare lived in her reign, and 
paid homage to this maiden queen. He styles her, " a fair 
star, throned in the west ;" and makes one, speaking of her 
infancy, say, 

Sheba was never 

More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue, 
Than this pure soul shall be 



Truth shall nurse her ; 



Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her. 
In the reign of Elizabeth," says Campbell, " the En- 



44 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

glisli mind put forth its energies in every direction, exalted 
by a purer religion, and enlaiged by new views of truth. 
This was an age of royalty, adventure, and generous emu- 
lation. The chivalrous character was softened by intellectual 
pursuits, while the genius of chivalry itself still lingered, as 
if unwilling to depart, and paid his last homage to a warlike 
and female reign. A degree of romantic foncy remained 
in the manners and superstitions of the people ; and allego- 
ry might be said to parade the streets in their public pageants 
and festivals. Quaint and pedantic as those allegorical 
exhibitions might often be, they were nevertheless more 
expressive of erudition, ingenuity, and moral meaning than 
they had been in former times. 

" The philosophy of the highest minds still partook of a 
visionary cliaracter, A poetical spirit infused itself into the 
practical heroism of the age ; and some of the worthies of 
that period seem less like ordinary men, than like beings 
called forth out of fiction, and arrayed in the briglttness of 
her dreams. They had ' high thoughts seated in a heart 
of courtesy.' The life of Sir Philip Sidney was poetry put 
into action." 

Three very memorable individuals adorned the age of 
Elizabeth, — Spenser, Sir Pliilip Sidney, and Sir Walter 
Raleirfh. The latter two are more properly subjects of verse 
than poets, though their verses are found in collections of 
English poetry, but Spenser stands without a rival in his 
own style of poetic invention. 

Edmund Spenser was born in London about the middle 
of the sixteenth century. After leaving the University of 
Cambridge, where he was educated, he passed some time 
in a state of rustic obscurity in the north of England, and 
there his mind was furnished with those natural images that 
abound in his works. He was afterwards introduced to 
Sir Phihp Sidney, and once resided with him at Penshurst 
in Kent. By the influence of Sidney, Spenser procured 
the place of Secretary to the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, 
and subsequently, a grant from the Queen of land in that 
country, in which he )emained for several years. 

" Spenser's residence at Kilcolman, an ancient castle of 
the eails Desmond, commanded a view of above half the 
breadth of Ireland, and must have been a most romantic 
and pleasant situation. The river MuUa which Spenser has 



SIDNEY. 45 

SO often celebrated, ran through his grounds.. In this re- 
treat he was visited by Sir Walter Raleigh, at that time a 
captain in the Queen's arnij'. His visit occasioned the re- 
solution of Spenser to prepai-e the first books of the Fairy 
Queen for immediate publication. Spenser has commemo- 
rated this interview, and the inspiring influence of Raleigh's 
praise, under the figurative description of two shepherds 
tuning their pipes, beneath the alders of the Mulla ; — a 
fiction with which the mind, perhaps, will be much less 
satisfied, than by recalling the scene as it really existed. 

" When we conceive of Spenser reciting his compositions 
to Raleigh, in a scene so beautifully appi'opriate, the mind 
casts a pleasing retrospect over that influence which the 
enterprise of the discoverer of Virginia, and the genius of 
the author of the Fairy Queen, have respectively produced 
on the fortune and language of England. The fancy might 
even be pardoned for a momentary superstition, that the 
Genius of their country hovered unseen over their meeting, 
casting her first look of regard on the poet, that was des- 
tined to inspire her future Milton, and the other on the 
maritime hero who paved the way for colonizing distant 
regions of the earth, where the language of Eng-land was 
to be spoken, and the poetry of Spenser to be admired." 

In 1597, a rebellion against the British government broke 
out in Ireland, and occasioned the precipitate flight of 
Spenser with his family to England. He died at London, 
January, 1599. He was buried, according to his own de- 
sire, near the tomb of Chaucer ; and " the most celebrated 
poets of the time" says Mr. Campbell, — Shakspeare was 
probably of the number — " followed his hearse, and threw 
tributary verses into his grave." 

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 

Sir Philip Sidney was the most celebrated man of his 
age. The question immediately occurs — for what ? — " Traits 
of character will distinguish great men independent of their 
pens or their swords," remarks Mr. Campbell. " The con- 
temporaries of Sidney knew the man : and foreigners, no 
less than his own countrymen, seem to have felt, from his 
personal influence and conversation, a homage for him, that 
could only be paid to a commanding intellect guiding the 
principles of a noble heart." 



46 POKTRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

He spent part of his short life in the court of Queen 
Elizabeth, and another very brilliant portion of it in military 
service upon the continent. As a courtier, a scholar, and n 
soldiei', he commanded the admiration of Europe, and all 
England wore mourning at his death. This event happened 
in 1580, when he was only 32 years of age. His writings 
are obsolete, but we sometimes hear of Sir Philip Sidney's 
Arcadia. This is an incomplete romance which he left. 
Miss Lucy Aikin says of the Arcadia, that " fervor of elo- 
quence," " nice discrimination of character," and " purity 
of thought,'' " stamp it for the offspring of a noble mind." 

" His death," continues Miss Aikin, " was worthy of the 
best parts of his life : he showed himself to the last devout, 
courageous, and serene. His wife, the beautiful daughter 
of Walsingham ; his brother Robert, to whom he had per- 
formed the part rather of an anxious and indulgent parent 
than of a brother ; and many sorrowing friends, surrounded 
his bed. Their grief was, beyond a doubt, sincere and 
poignant, as well as that of the many persons of letters and 
of worth who gloried in his friendship, and tiourished by 
his bountiful patronage." 

Such a man's name and example should still serve to 
kindle in the bosom of youth the animating glow of virtuous 
emulation. Lord Thurlow, a nephew of the late Lord 
Chancellor of England, Avrote a pretty sonnet on Sidney's 
picture : 

" The man that looks, sweet Sidney, in thy face, 

Beholding there love's truest majesty, 
And the soft image of departed grace, 

Shall fill his mind with magnanimity : 
There may he read unfeigned humilit)^. 

And golden pity, born of heavenly brood. 
Unsullied thouglits of immoi-tality. 

And musing virtue, prodigal of blood : 
Yes, in this map of what is fair and good, 

This glorious index of a heavenly book ; 
Not seldom, as in youthful years he stood, 

Divinest Spenser would admiring look ; 
And, framing thence high wit and pure desire, 
Iraaffined deeds that set the world on fire !" 



RALEIGH. 47 

SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 

Sir Walter Raleigh was boi-n at Hayes Farm in Devon- 
shire, 1552, and was beheaded in London, 1618. He is 
memorable for his understanding, his knowledge, and his 
enterprising spirit. During the reign of Elizabeth Raleigh 
performed many honorable services in the British navy, and 
litted out, and sometimes accompanied, ships of discovery 
which explored the coasts of North and South America. 
After the accession of James I., Elizabeth's successor, Ra- 
leigh was indicted and tried for treason, upon the charge 
of attempting to place Lady Arabella Stuart on the throne 
of England ; and though he was not condemned he suffered 
fifteen years of imprisonment. 

When Raleigh was liberated he obtained a commission 
from the King, and commanded an expedition against Gui- 
ana in South America. In this enterprise he was unsuccess- 
ful, though he committed some depredations upon the 
Spaniards who were in possession of the country. On his 
return to England he was tried upon the former accusation, 
and sentenced to death. The sentence was immediately 
executed, and a life of singular vicissitudes, in which the 
prosperity was adorned by eminent accomplishments, and 
the adversity sustained by admirable fortitude, was thus 
cruelly terminated. 



SPENSER. 

UNA AND THE REDCROSS KNIGHT. 
'The heavenly Una and her milk-white lamb." — TVordsworth, 

"A gentle knight was pricking* on the plain, 
Ycladf in mighty arms and silver shield. 
Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain, 
The cruel marks of many a bloody field ; 
Yet arms till that time did he never wield ; 
His angry steed did chide his foaming bit, 
As much disdaining to the curb to yield : 
Full jolly knight he seemed, and fair did sit. 

As one for knightly jousts]]; and fici'ce encounters fit. 

• Riding. + Attired. % Contests of skill and arms. 



48 P O K T li V F (m SCHOOLS. 

But on his breast a bloody cross he bore. 
The dear remembrance of his dying Lord, 
For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore. 
And dead (as living) ever him adored : 
Upon his shield the like was also scored,* 
For sovereign hope, which in his help he had : 
Right faithful true he was in deed and word ; 
But of his cheer did seem too solemn sad : 
Yet nothing did he dread ; but ever was ydrad.f 

Upon a great adventiu'e he was bound, 
That greatest Gloriana to him gave. 
That greatest glorious queen of fiiiry lond, 
To win him worship, and her grace to have, 
Which of all earthly things he most did crave ; 
And ever as he rode his heart did yearn 
To prove his puissance in battle brave 
Upon his foe, and his new force to learn ; 
Upon his foe, a dragon horrible and stern. 

A lovely lady rode him fair beside. 
Upon a lowly ass more white than snow ; 
Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide 
Under a veil, that wimpledj was full low, 
And over all a black stole§ she did throw, 
As one that inly mourned ; so was she sad. 
And heavy sat upon her palfrey slow ; 
Seemed in heart some hidden care she had. 
And by her in a line a milk-white lamb she led. 

So pure an innocent as that same lamb, 
She was in life and every virtuous lore, 
And by descent from royal lineage came 
Of ancient kings and queens, that had of yore 
Their sceptres stretcht from east to western shore. 
And all the world in their subjection held ; 
Till that infernal fiend with foul uproar 
Forewasted all their land and them expelled; 
Wliom to avenge, she had this kniglit from far compelled. 

• Engraved. )■ Preaded. 

t Drawn closuly § Robe. 



SPENSER. 49 

Beliind her far away a dwarf did lag, 
That lazy seemed in being ever last, 
Or wearied with bearing of her bag 
Of needments at his back. Thus as they past 
The day Avitli clouds was sudden overcast, 
And angry Jove an hideous storm of rain 
Did pour into his leman's lap so fast 
That every wight to shroud it did constrain. 
And this fair couple eke to shroud themselves were fain. 

Enforced to seek some covert nigh at hand, 
A shady grove not far away they spied. 
That promised aid the tempest to witlistand ; 
Whose lofty trees, yclad with summer's pride, 
Did spread so broad, they heaven's liglit did hide, 
Not pierceable with power of any star : 
And all witliin wore paths and alleys wide, 
"With footinsx worn, and leadinfj inward far : 
Fair harbour, that them seems ; so in they entered ai-e. 

And forth they pass, with pleasure forward led. 
Joying to hear the bird's sweet harmony, 
Which therein shrouded from tlie tempest's dread, 
Seemed in their song to scorn the cruel sky. 
Much can they praise the trees so straight and high, 
The sailing Pine, the Cedar proud and tall, 
The vine-prop Elm, the Poplar never dry, 
The builder Oak, sole king of forests all. 
The Aspen good for staves, the Cypress funeral. 

The Laurel, meed of mighty conquerors 
And poets sage, the Fir that weepeth still. 
The Willow, worn of forlorn paramours, 
The Yew, obedient to the bender's will. 
The Birch for shafts, the Sallow for the mill. 
The Myrrh sweet bleeding in the bitter wound, 
The warlike Beech, the Ash for nothing ill. 
The fruitful Olive, and the Plantain round. 
The carver Holme, the Maple seldom inward sound : 

Led with delight they thus beguile the way, 
Until the blustering storm is overblown, 
5 



60 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

When, weening* to return, whence they did stray. 
They cannot find that path which first was shown. 
But wander to and fro in ways unknown. 
Furthest from end then, when they nearest ween, 
That makes them doubt their wits be not their own : 
So many paths, so many turnings seen. 
That which of them to take, in divers doubts they been. 

These verses are easily comprehended. Every young 
person should know something of Chivalry. That institu- 
tion had once great influence vipon the manners and happi- 
ness of Europe. Tlie situation of Una and the nature of 
her protector's character and office, will not be understood 
without some acquaintance with the meaning of chivalry. 



CHIVALRY. 

The origin of Chivalry was briefly this : France, Spain, 
England, Germany, Italy and Holland, once belonged to 
the Roman Empire ; but armies from the North of Europe 
invaded the more southern countries, overthrew the Ro- 
man power, and at different times took possession of the 
places they conquered. When they had made themselves 
masters of a countiy, the great leaders of the armies took 
large tracts of land ; and their followers, that is, the soldiers 
they commanded, together with such of the original inhabit- 
ants of the countries as they permitted to live, became the 
vassals of these great men. 

These subject people were not acquainted with the useful 
arts or comforts of life which we enjoy, but they could 
take care of cattle, cultivate the soil in a rude and imperfect 
manner, could help to erect the castle and church of their 
master, and could follow him to battle. This lattei- ser/ice, 
together with a great part of the cattle and corn whicli they 
could procure from the cultivation of the soil, they gave to 
their lords. The lords always kept many of their vassals 
in their houses or castles, and usually went out with a con- 
siderable number of them as attendants. This was partly 
for show, and partly for safety. These followers were called 
Retainers, and when they went abroad with their masters 
formed his Retinue. The more people a great lord had 

• Presuming. 



CHIVALRT. 51 

about his person, the better was he guarded, and the more 
■was he feared. 

In the present happier age of the world, when every man 
has his own business, and property, and leisure, and enjoy- 
ments, no great man has any right to the services of so many 
of his fellow-men ; nor has he anj^ need of them, for he has 
nothing to fear from the violence of others. He is protect- 
ed by the laws of his country, and what is better, by the 
humanity of all men, who have learned, in some measure, to 
respect one another's lives and property, and to know, in 
order that all may be happy, all must be safe, and protected 
by each other. 

But a thousand years ago men lived veiy differently. 
The owners of property which lay together often claimed 
the same ; and as there were not courts of justice to inquire 
into and settle their rights, they and their vassals fought 
about them. Many of the richer and more powerful lords, 
wanting to become still more rich and powerful, and having 
small sense of religion, of justice, or mercy, little of the fear 
of God or love of man — murdered their neighbors, set fire 
to their houses, carried off their property, and claimed their 
lands : on these occasions the ladies were often treated in a 
barbarous manner. 

A remarkable instance of this may be found in Shaks- 
peare's Tragedy of Macbeth. Macbeth, a Scottish noble- 
man, invited Duncan king of Scotland, to his castle, and 
there murdered him, that he might be king instead of 
Duncan. On the murder of the king, his two sons fled from 
Scotland in fear of their lives^ Macduff, a Scottish lord, 
followed Malcolm, one of the young pi-inces, into England ; 
upon which the usurper Macbeth was so enraged that he 
vowed to revenge himself upon Macduff for his desertion. 
In order to do this Macbeth resolved upon killing Macduff's 
innocent family, which he had left behind, and he accord- 
ingly gave orders for this cruel act. When the bloody 
work was done, Rosse, a friend of the unfortunate fiimily, 
escaped into England to inform Macduff of it. He found 
him talking to Malcolm, and after preparing his mind, relates 
the event. 

" Bosse. Your castle is surprised, your wife and babes 
savagely slaughtered ! 

Malcolm. Merciful heaven ! 



62 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Macduff. My children too ? 

Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all 
That could be found. 

Macd. And I must be from thence ! — 
My wife kill'd too ? 

Rosse. I have said. 

Mai. Let us make medicine of our great revenge, 
To cure this deadly grief. 

Macd. He has no children ! — All my pretty ones ? — 
Did you say all ? 

Rosse. All. 

Macd. What, all my pretty chickens and their dam ?" 

Macbeth, Act IV., Scene 3. 

Malcolm, it may be observed, proposes to make amends 
for this cruel injury by some " great revenge," that is, by 
some act of equal cruelty to the murderers of Macduff's 
vrife and cliildren. This was the way in which people at 
that time usually endeavored to satisfy themselves, but they 
only continued a strife which the descendants of both parties 
felt bound never to forget nor forgive ; and which, many 
long years after the first offence was given, caused fresh 
quarrels, murders, and destruction of property. 

In this state of violence and danger many people lived in 
constant and great fear, and were always prepared to ex- 
pect, and to defend themselves against an enemy. The rich 
lived in strong castles, surrounded by walls and gates, a 
watch was kept to look out for the approach of their foes ; 
and, before the discovery of gunpowder and the use of fire- 
arms, the knights — that is, the gentlemen soldiers — used 
generally to wear plates of metal over the whole person, 
called armor. 

Then, as at all times, there were good men — some who 
were not weak and timid, or ferocious and cruel, who could | 
not see the acts of these barbarians without indignation j 
against them, and compassion for the unfortunate victims I 
of their ci'uelty. The distress of the ladies, above all, jj 
inspired the just and the generous with a desire to serve Ij 
them, and to save them fi-om the dreadful calamities to \ 
which the}'' were exposed. Many noblemen and brave n 
soldiers devoted themselves to the redress of injuries inflict- i 
ed upon all good persons, and particularly upon the young 






C H I V A L R V i 53 

and the beautiful of the female sex. These formed what is 
called the order of Chivalry. 

The young men who composed the order of Chivalry 
could not be admitted into it unless they possessed streno-th 
and courage, and wei^e distinguislied by truth and honor; 
and this being known, made ambitious youths desirous to 
be so distinguished, that they miglit be worth}?^ to assert 
justice, and to defend innocence ; that they might become 
objects of admiration and praise, and form at once the pro- 
tectors and ornaments of society. To be all this it was 
necessary that they should not only be fearless and powerful, 
but that they should also be pleasing and interesting ; that 
they should perfectly understand the use of arms to prevail 
over their enemies, and be masters of every graceful ac- 
complishment to inspire the affection of their fiiends. 

Many arts of little use at this time, were then necesmry, 
and these arts exhibited much grace and skill. The man- 
agement of fieiy horses, the throwing of the pike (a sharp 
instrument used in ancient Avarfai-e), and the exercise of the 
bow, were taught to young men with as much, and more 
pains than dancing, fencing, and music now require. Horse- 
manship, arcliery, (fee, require great presence of mind and 
strength of body, and show elegance of person and quick- 
ness of tliought to the utmost advantage. 

For a long time Chivalry did much good, but at length it 
went out of use, because laws were made and enforced that 
compelled people to live peaceably together, so that the 
arts that belonged to Chivalry only served for amusement, 
and Knights' or Champions used to practise a sort of mock 
fiLclitino^ as a mere trial of strength and skill, not intendinof 
to kill one another, but to spare the life of him Avho should 
prove the weakest. The most beautiful lad}^ present at the 
encounter, used to give a prize to the victorious knight. 
These public spectacles were at last given up, but not all 
at once, for so late as the year 1600, and afterwards, we 
read of young gentlemen who were taught all the exercises 
of Chivalry. 

Tliese remarks do not refer exclusively to the preceding 
extract from Spenser, but they also serve to explain other 
pieces in this collection. The distressed condition of Una 
exemplifies the sufferings to which the young and beautiful 
were exposed in a rude age, and the devotedness of her 

5* 



64 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

attendant is a further illustration of the sentiments and 
services of a disinterested knight-errant in behalf of endan- 
gered innocence. ^' 

FABLE OF THE OAK AND THE BRIAR. 

•' There grew an aged tree on the green, 
A goodly Oak sometime had it been, 
With arms full strong and largely displayed, 
But of their leaves they were disarrayed : 
The body big and mightily pight, 
Thoroughly rooted, and of wondrous height ; 
Whilom* had been the king of the field. 
And mochel mastf to the husband did yield, 
And with his nuts larded many swine, 
But now the gray moss marred his rine. 
His bared boughs were beaten with storms, 
His top was bald, and wasted with worms, 
His honor decayed, his braunches sere.;|; 

Hard by his side grew a bragging Breere, 
Which proudly thrust into th' element, 
And seemed to tlireat the firmament: 
It was imbelli.sht with blossoms fair. 
And thereto age wonted to repair ; 
The shepherd's daughteivs to gather flowres, 
To paint their garlands with his colowres ; 
And in his small bushes used to shroud, 
The sweet nightingale singing so loud. 
Which made this foolish Breere wax so bold. 
That on a time he cast him to scold. 
And sneb the good Oak, for he was old. 

" Why stand'st there (quoth he) thou bi-utish block ? 
Nor for fruit nor for shadow serves thy stock ; 
Seest how fresh my flowers been spread. 
Died in lily white and crimson red. 
With leaves engrained in lusty green. 
Colors meet to clothe a maiden queen ? 
Thy waste bigness but cumbers the ground. 
And dirks the beauty of my blossoms round : 
The mouldy moss, which thee accloyeth. 
My cinnamon smell too much annoyeth : 

* Formerly. t Many acorns. X Dry. 



SPENSER. 65 

Wherefore soon I rede* thee hence remove. 
Lest thou the price of mj displeasure prove." 

So spake thi-s bold Breere with great disdain, 
Little him answered the Oak again, 
But yielded, with shame and grief adawed,f 
That of a weed he was over-crawed.J 

It chaunced after upon a day. 
The husband-man's self to come that way. 
Of custom to surview his ground, 
And his trees of state in compass round : 
Him when the spightful Breere had espyed. 
He causeless complained, and loudly cried 
Unto his lord, stirring up stern strife : 

my liege Loi-d ! the god of my life, 
Please you pond§ your suppliant's plaint. 
Caused of wrong and cruel constraint, 
AVhich I j-our poor vassal daily endure ; 
And but your goodness the same recui'e, 
Am like for desperate dole|| to die, 
Througli felonous force of mine enemy. 

Greatly aghast with this piteous plea. 
Him rested the good man on the lea. 
And bade the Breere in his plaint proceed. 
With painted words then 'gan this proud weed 
(As most used ambitious folk) 
His colored crime with craft to cloke. 

Ah, my Sovereign ! lord of creatures all, 
Thou placer of plants both humble and tall. 
Was not I planted of thine own hand, 
To be the primrose of all thy land, 
With flowering blossoms to furnish tlie prime, 
And scarlet berries in sommer-time ? 
How falls it then that this faded Oak, 
Whose body is sere, Avhose branches broke. 
Whose naked arms stretch unto the fire, 
Unto such tyrranny doth aspire, 
Hindering with his shade my lovely light, 
And robbing me of the sweet sun's sight ? 
So beat his old boughs my tender side, 
That oft the bloud springeth from woundes wide ; 
Untimely my flowers forced to fall, 

* Advise. + Dejected. t Triumphed over, 

§ Consider. | Grief. 



66 POETRY FOE SCHOOLS. 

That been the honor of your coronal ;* 
And oft he lets his canker-worms light 
Upon my branches, to work me more spight, 
And of his hoary locks doth cast, 
Wherewith my fresh flowerets been defast: 
For this, and many more such outrage, 
Craving your godlyhead to assuage 
The rancorous ricror of his miffht ; 
Nought ask I, but onely to hold my right, 
Submitting me to your good sufferance, 
And praying to be guarded from grievaunce. 

To this the Oak cast him to reply 
Well as he couth ; but his enemy 
Had kindled such coles of displeasure, 
That the good man nouldf stay his leisure, 
But home him hasted with furious heat, 
Encreasing his wrath with many a threat 
His liarmful hatchet he hent| in hand, 
(Alas! that it so ready should stand !) 
And to the field alone he spticdeth, 
(Ay little help to harm there needeth) 
Anger nould let him speak to the tree, 
Enaunter his rage mought cooled be. 
But to the root bent his sturdy stroke, 
And made many wounds in the waste Oak. 

The axe's edge did oft turn again. 
As half imwilling to cut the grain. 
Seemed the senseless iron did fear. 
Or to wrong holy eld did forbear ; 
For it had been an antient tree, 
Sacred with many a mystery. 
And often crost with the priests' crew. 
And often hallowed with hol}^ water dew; 
But like fancies weren foolery. 
And brought the Oak to this misery ; 
For nought might they quitten him from decay, 
For fiercely the good man at him did lay. 
The block§ oft groaned under his blow, 
And sighed to see his near overthrow. 
In fine, the steel had pierced his pith. 
Then down to the ground he fell forthwith. 

* Wreath of Qowers, chaplet. + Would not. _ J Took. § Trunk, 



8HAKSPEARE. 5*1 

His wondrous weight made the ground to quake, 
Th' earth sunk under him, and seem'd to shake : 
There lieth the Oak pitied of none. 

Now stands the Breere Hke a lord alone, 
Puff' d up with pride and vain pleasance 
But all this glee had no continuance : 
For eftsoons* winter 'gan to approach, 
The blustering Boreas did encroach. 
And beat upon this solitary Breere, 
For now no succour was seen him neere. 
Now 'gan he repent his pride too late, 
For naked left and disconsolate, 
The biting frost nipt his stalk dead. 
The watry wet weighed down his head. 
And heaped snow burdened him so sore. 
That now upright he can stand no more ; 
And being down is trod in the durt 
Of cattle, and bronzed, and sorely hurt. 
Such was th' end of this ambitious Breere, 
For scorning eld " 



SHAKSPEARE. 

O youths and virgins : declining old : 

Oh pale misfortune's slaves : ye who dwell 

Unknown with humble quiet : ye who wait 

In courts, or fill the golden seat of kings : 

sons of sport and pleasure: thou wretch 

That weep'st for jealous love, or the sore wounds 

Of conscious guilt, or Death's rapacious hand 

Which left thee void of hope : O ye who roam 

In exile ; ye who through the embattled field 

Seek bright renown, or who for noble palms 

Contend, the leaders of a public cause ; 

Approach : behold this marble, know ye not 

The features? Hath not oft his faithful tongue 

Told you the fashion of your own estate. 

The secrets of your bosom ? Here then, round 

♦ Not long after. 



58 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

His monument, with reverence while you stand, 
Say to each other, " This was Shakspeare's form : 
Who walked in every path of human life ; 
Felt every passion, and to all mankind 
Doth now, will ever, that experience yield 
Which only his own genius could acquire." 

Inscription from a bust of Shakspeare. — Akenside. 

This dramatic poet is justly esteemed by those who speak 
the English language as the most interesting writer in the 
world. There are few so highly endowed as to be able to 
comprehend the wealth and magnitude of Shakspeare's 
genius in all its variety and comprehensiveness, but there 
are none, perhaps, wiihin the remotest influence of English 
literature, that have not felt the power of this mighty 
master in some of those numerous passages of his works 
which have passed into the popular mind. The best fur- 
nished and most profound intellects meet with congenial 
thoughts in Shakspeare ; and all human experience, from 
the monarch's to the laborer's lot, is recorded and express- 
ed by his immortal muse, so that every mind may find its 
own feelings and circumstances somewhere illustrated by 
his inspiration. 

From the accounts which are preserved of Shakspeare's 
early life it appears that he had few advantages of direct 
instruction, though the knowledge contained in books 
popular at that time in England lent him its little light, 
and the talent " that Nature did him give," supplied in him 
every defect of human learning, and enabled him to leave 
an inheritance of thought to future ages, which nothing 
but the dissolution of " the great globe itself " can anni- 
hilate. 

Dryden says of him, " He was a man who, of all mo- 
dern, and, perhaps, ancient poets, had the largest and 
most comprehensive soul. All the images of nature were 
still present to him, and he drew them not laboriously, but 
luckily. When he describes any thing, you more than see 
it, you feel it too. He needed not the spectacles of books 
to read nature ; he looked inwards and found her there." 
But, 

'Tis wonderful. 

That an invisible instinct should frame him 
To poetry unlearned ; honor untaught ; 



SHAKSTEARE, B9' 

Civility not seen in other ; knowledge 
That wildly grew in him, yet yielded crops 
As though it had been sown. 

Shakspeare was born at Stratford-upon-Avon in War- 
wickshire, 1564. The documents of his life are very im- 
perfect. Rowe, the poet, published a memoir of him a 
century after his death. From this it appears that Shaks- 
peare removed himself to London, that lie was an actor 
as well as a writer of plays, that he subsequently returned 
to Stratford, purchased a house there, and died in that 
town. In the church of Stratford a moiuinu'iit to his 
memory still remains. The following inscription on this 
monument is engraved beneath a bust of the poet: 

Stay, passenger, why goest thou so fast? 
Read, if thou canst whom envious death has placed 
Within this monument — Shakspeare : with wliom 
Quick nature died ; whose name doth deck this tomb 
Far more than cost ; since all that he hath writ 
Leaves living art, but art to serve his wit. 

Obt A D. IClG—jEtatis 53, die 23 Ajuil. 

Shakspeare's thirty-five plays were first collected and 
published in 1623, in folio. The title page of tliis folio 
was embellished by an engraving, which was said to be a 
likeness of the author, and attached to it were these lines 
by Ben Jonson, addressed to the reader : 

This figure that thou seest here put, 

It was for gentle Shakspeare cut, 

Wherein the graver had a strife 

With nature to outdo the life : 

O, could he but have drawn his wit 

As well in brass, as he hath hit 

His face ; the print would then surpass 

All that was ever writ in brass. 

But since he cannot — reader, look 

Not on his picture, but his book. 

Frorn 1*709, when Rowe published Shakspeare's plays, 
to the present time, (1849), they have been often, publish- 
ed, and are disseminated throughout the readintj world of 



60 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

our language ; and the more they are studied, the more 
they are admired and enjoyed. The fine arts have derived 
important aid from Shakspeare. The stage has been ex- 
alted, literature has been illustrated and adorned by him, 
his scenes have been delineated an infinite number of times 
by the pencil, and they embellish almost every house and 
every library. 

Milton's Sonnet to Shakspeare is among the most inte- 
resting tributes to his memory : 

What needs my Shakspeare for his honored bones 

The labor of an age in piled stones, 

Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid 

Under a star-y-pointing pyramid ? 

Dear son of memory, great heir of fame 

What need'st thou such weak witness of they name ? 

Thou in our wonder and astonishment 

Has built thyself a live-long monument. 

For whilst to the shame of slow-endeavoring art 

Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart 

Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book 

Those Delphic lines with deep impression took ; 

Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving, 

Dost make us marble with too much conceiving ; 

And so sepulchered, in sucli pomp dost lie, 

That kings for such a tomb would wish to die." 

English, Roman, and Grecian Historj^, furnish part of 
the subjects of Shakspeare's plays ; and some of his plots 
are taken from Italian romances that had been translated 
into English ; but upon what foundation soever he built, 
the superstructure is original and beautiful. 

Though Shakspeare's poetry is the delight and pride of 
all who speak our language, it is in general too abstruse 
and difficult for foreigners and young persons. It exhibits 
the most lively pictures of external natvire, and the most 
perfect representations of human passions. But his lan- 
guage is frequently obscure, from its containing many 
words and phrases which are now out of common use ; 
besides, his writings relate so much to the passions of men, 
and the concerns of princes and politicians, that a person 
must have had some experience of the effects of human 
passions, before he can perceive the beauties, or have a 



SHAKSPEARE. 61 

relish for the excellencies of Shakspeare. Parts of King 
John, of Henry IV., and of Cymbeline, are in some measure 
free from these difficulties ; and are selected for the pur- 
pose of introducing this great poet to young readers. 

Shakspeare wrote dramatic pieces upon the history of 
England ; they are now called plays, though formerly they 
were called histories ; each of them takes in several years ; 
and they carry the imagination of the spectator from Eng- 
land to France, and back again, many times in the space of 
one niofht. Kincj John is one of these dramas. 



KING JOHN. 

John surnamed Sans Terrc or Lackland, was the fourth 
son of Henry II., King of England. John succeeded to the 
throne upon the death of his brother, Richard I. Arthur, 
Duke of Brittany, was the son of GeoflFrey, John's elder 
brother, and, according to the laws of England, the legal 
successor of his uncle Richard. The unfortunate Artluxr, it 
is supposed, was murdered by the command of Jolm, but 
the manner of his death is unknown. Philip, King of 
France, publicly accused John of murdering his nephew ; 
but John declared that Arthur fell from the walls of a castle 
where he was confined into a river which flowed beneath, 
and thus lost his life. Shakspeare has made a most affect- 
ing scene of John's cruelty to the poor youth. That and 
the subsequent passages from Shakspeare's play of King 
John which complete Arthur's history, follow in this place. 



KING JOHN, ACT IV., SCENE I. 

Hubert, th,?. assassin, employed to -put out the young jrrince's eyes. 
Arthur, and attendants. Scene, a room in the Castle. 

Hubert. Heat me these irons hot ; and look thou stand 
Within the arras : when I strike my foot 
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth. 
And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 
Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 

1. Attend. I hope your Avarrant will bear out the deed. 

Htih. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look to't. — 

\^Exeunt Attendants. 
Voiuig lad, com^' forth ; I have to say with you. 
6 



62 P O K r li, Y FOR SCHOOLS. 

Enter Arthur 

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. 

Huh. Good morrow, little prince. 

Arth. As little prince (having so gi-eat a title 
To be more prince) as may be. — You are sad. 

Huh. Indeed, I have been merrier. 

Arth. Mercy on me ! 
Methinks, nobody should be sad but I : 
Yet, I remember, when I was in France, 
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom,* 
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
I should be as merry as the day is long ; 
And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
My uncle practises more harm to me : 
He is afraid of me, and I of him : 
Is it my fault that I was Geoffrey's son ? 
No, indeed, is't not ; and I would to heaven, 
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 

Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
He will awake my merc3% which lies dead : 
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. \^Aside. 

Arth, Are you sick, Hubert ? You look pale to-day : 
In sooth, I would j^ou were a little sick, 
That I might sit all night, and watch with you : 
I warrant, I love you more than you do me. 

Huh. His words do take possession of my bosom. — 
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper ^ How 

now, foolish rheum ! \Aside. 

Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! 
I must be brief ; lest resolution drop 

Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. 

Can you not i-ead it ? is it not fair Avrit ? 

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: 
Must you with hpt irons burn out both mine eves ? 

Hub. Young boy, I must. 

Arth. And will you ? 

Huh. And I will. 

Arth. Have you the heart '? Wlien youi- head did but ache, 
I knit my handkerchief about your bi'ows, 
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) 

* V.y christening', or bnptisin. 



SHAKSPEARE. 68 

And I did never ask it you again : 

And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 

And, hke the watchful minutes to the hour, 

Still and anon cheered up by the heavy time ; 

Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? 

Or, What good love may I perform for you ? 

Many a poor man's son would have lain still, 

And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 

But you at your sick ser\ice had a j^rince. 

Nay, you may think my love was crafty love. 

And call it cunning ; do, an if you will : 

If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill. 

Why, then you must.' — Will you put out mine eyes ? 

These eyes, that never did, nor never shall. 

So much as frown on you ? 

Huh. I have sworn to do it ; 
And with hot ii-ons must I burn them out. 

Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it ! 
The iron of itself, though heat red hot. 
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
And quench his fiery indignation. 
Even in the matter of mine innocence ; 
Nay, after that, consume away in rust, 
But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
Are you more subborn-hard than hammered iron ? 
And if an angel should have come to me. 
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
I would not have believed him. No tongue, but Hubert's. 

Hub. Come forth. [^Stamps. 

Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, SfC. 

Do, as I bid you do. 

Arth. 0, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes are out, 
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 

Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 

Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous rough ? 
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound 1 
Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away. 
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb. 
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word. 
Nor look upon the iron angerly : 



'64 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, 
Whatever torment you do put me to. 

Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 

1 At. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. 

[Exeunt. 

Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend ; 
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart: — 
Let hira come back, that his compassion may 
Give life to yours. 

Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 

Arth. Is there no remedy ? 

Huh. None, but to lose your eyes. 

Arth. O heaven ! — that there were but a mote in yours, 
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a waud'ring hair. 
Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
Then, feeling what small things are boislerous there. 
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 

Hub. Is tliis your promise ? go to, hold your tongue. 

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! 
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. 
So I may keep mine eyes ; 0, spare mine eyes ; 
Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
Lo by my troth, the instrument is cold, 
And would not harm me. 

Hub. I can heat it, boy. 

Arth. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief. 
Being create for comfort, to be used 
In undeserved extremes : See else yourself ; 
There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out. 
And strewed repentant ashes on his head. 

Huh. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 

Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, 
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert : 
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; 
And, like a dog, that is compelled to fight. 
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. 
All things, that you should use to do me wrong, 
Deny their office : only you do lack 
That mercy, which fierce fire and iron extends, 
Creatures of note, for mercy lacking uses. 



SnAKSPEARE. 66 

Hub. Well, see to live : I will not touch thine eyes 
For all the treasure that t.hine uncle owns : 
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, 
With this same A-ery iron to burn them out. 

Ai-th. 0, now you look like Hubert ! all this while 
You were disguised. 

Hub Peace : no more. Adieu ; 
Your luicle must not know but you are dead : 
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
And, prett}' child, sleep doubtless, and secure, 
Tha.t Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 
Will not offend thee. 

Arth. heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert, 

Huh. Silence ; no more : Go closely in with me ; 
Much dangf-r do I undergo for thee. [^Exeunt. 

I hope your wan-ant will bear out the deed. — I hope yoa 
act in this bloody business by some higher authority than 
your own cruelty or selfishness. It is necessary that poor 
men in the service of arbitrary princes should act their 
Avicked wills. If you do as you are commanded you are 
not so guilty as if you devised of your own heart such hor- 
rible deeds ; but if you do this without some such justifi- 
cation — dread the punishment due to your cruelty. All 
this is impticd in this passage. 

Heat. — Heated is the modern participle. " The participle 
heat, though now obsolete, was in use in our author's time. 
So in the sacred writings : ' He commanded that they should 
heat the furnace one seven times more than it was wont to 
be heat.'" — Dan. iii. 19. 

Tarre. — To stimulate, to set on. 

SCENE III. Arthur on the castle wall. 
Arth. The wall is high ; and yet will I leap down : 
Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not! — 
There's few, or none, do know me ; if they did, 
This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised me quite. 
I am afraid ; and yet I'll venture it. 
If I get down, and do not break my limbs, 
I'll find a thousand shifts to get away : 
As good to die and go, as die and stay. 
Oh me ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones: — 
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones ! [Dies. 

6* 



66 POETRY Foil SCHOOLS. 

Enter Pembkoke, Salisbury, and Bigod. 

Sal, This is the prison : What is he hes here ? 

[Seeing Arthur. 

Pern. death, made proud with pure and princely 
beauty ! 
The earth hatli not a hole to hide this deed. 

Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, 
Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. 

Biq. Or, when he doomed this beauty to a grave. 
Found it too precious princely for a grave. 

Sal. Sir Ricliard, what think you ? Have you beheld, 
Or have you read, or heard ? or could you think ? 
Or do you almost think, although you see, 
Tiiat you do see ? could thought, without this object. 
Form such another? This is the very top, 
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest. 
Of murder's arms ; this is the bloodiest shame. 
The wildest savager)'', the vilest stroke, 
That ever wall-eyed wrath, or staring rage, 
Piesented to the tears of soft remorse. 

Pern. All murders past do stand excused in this. — 
It is a bloody work ; 
The graceless action of a heavy hand, 
If that it be the work of any hand. 

Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ? — 
We had a kind of light what would ensue. 
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ; 
The practice, and the purpose of the king : — 
From whose obedience I forbid my soul. 
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life, 
And breathing to his breathless excellence 
The incense of a vow, a Ao/y vow ; 
Never to taste the pleasures of the world. 
Never to be infected with delight, ' 

Nor conversant with ease and idleness, 
Till I have set a glory to this head. 
By giving it the worship of revenge. 

Pern. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words. 

Revenge, to a certain extent, is the love of justice. It 
has been shown in the brief sketch lately given of the 
origin and principal objects of Chivalry that its purpose 
was not only to defend innocence, but to punish those who 



S H A KS 1' E A 1!E. 67 

sViould injure the -weak and unprotected, The knights of 
that age not only make a vow to serve God and the interests 
of humanity, wlien they were initiated, but, oit setting out 
upon a sjjecial enterprise, solemnly devoted themselves to 
the work before them. In conformity to this practice, 
Salisbury kneels beside the dead body of Arthur, and vows 
never to take pleasure or rest till he has punished the 
wretches who wrought bis death, 

HENRY IV. 

Henry, Duke of Lancaster, sumamed Bolingbroke, was 
son of John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, third son of 
Edward IIL, king of England. Richard 11. was the pre- 
decessor of Henry IV. Richard was the rightful king, but 
he had no talent for government, and during his reign all 
England was in a state of confusion and civil warfare. In 
consequence of his mis-government, Richard was deposed 
and thrown into prison. He was a son of Edward, called 
from the black armor which he wore, the Black Prince. 
The Black prince was the eldest son of Edward IIL, the 
duke of Clarence was his second son, and John of Gaunt 
the third. When Richard was deposed, a descendant of the 
duke of Clarence was the legal successor to the throne, but 
Henry Bolingbroke set aside his claim, and caused himself 
to be crowned King, Henry IV. died March, 1413, in the 
14th year of his reign. 

At the age of twenty-five Henry V. succeeded his father. 
During his short reign of nine years he exhibited such quali- 
ties as are much admired in a i-ude age. He possessed 
great personal courage, a spirit of military enterprise, talent 
for command, and patient perseverance in the accomplish- 
ment of his purposes. According to history his deportment 
was singularly graceful and dignified, and his power of self- 
government even more extraordinary than his control of 
other men. 

Shakspeare, in the last act of Henry IV., has given " 
very touching scene — it is the closing one of the king's life, 
in which he gives his latest counsel to the Prince of Wales. 
The king being ill, has his crown displaced from his head, and 
falls asleep. At this moment the prince enters the apart- 
ment of his father, and percei\ing his condition, tenderly 
laments it, but removes the crown, and swears to maintain 



68 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

his right to it. The king awakes, eagerly demands who has 
taken away the crown, and seeing prince Henry, requests 
to he left alone with him ; they then confer together thus : 

Henry IV. and Prince Henry. 

K. Hen. Come hither to me, Harry. 

P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. 

K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought : 
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. 
Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair, 
That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honors 
Before thy hour be ripe ? 0, foolish youth ! 
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. 
Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity 
Is held from falling with so weak a wind, 
That it will quickly drop ; my day is dim, 
Thou hast stolen that, Avhicb, after some few hours. 
Where thine without offence ; and, at my death. 
Thou hast sealed up my expectation;* 
Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not, 
And thou wilt have me die assured of it. 

Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts : 
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart. 
To stab at half an hour of my life. 
What ! canst thou not forbear me half an hour ? 
Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself; 
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear, 
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. 
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse 
Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head ; 
Only compound me with forgotten dust ; 
Give that, which gave thee life, imto the worms. 

Pluck down my officers, break my decrees ; 
For now^ the time is come to mock at form ; 
Harry the Fifth is crowned. — Up, vanity ! 
Down, royal state ! all you sage counsellors, hence I 
And to the English court assemble now. 
From every region, apes of idleness ! 
Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your scum. 
Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance, 
Revel the night ; rob, murder, and commit 
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ? 

* i. c. confirmed my opinion. 



SHAKSPEARE, €9 

Be Viappy ; he will trouble you no more, 
England shall double gild his treble guilt ; 
England shall give him office, honor, might; 
For the fifth Harry from curbed license plucks 
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 
Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent, 

my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows 1 
When that my care could not withhold thy riots. 
What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care ? 

O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, 
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants 1 

P. Hen. 0, pardon me, my liege ! but for my tears. 
The moist impediments unto my speech, \Kneeling, 

1 had forestalled this dear and deep rebuke. 
Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard 
The course of it so far. There is your crown : 
And He that wears the crown immortally, 
Long guard it yours ! If I afiect it more. 
Than as your honor, and as your renown, 

Let me no more from this obedience rise, 
(Which my most true and inward-duteous spirit 
Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending ! 
Heaven witness with me, when I here came in, 
And found no course of breath within your majesty. 
How xiold it struck my heart ! If I do feign, 
O, let me in my present wildness die ; 
And never live to show the incredulous worid. 
The noble change that I have purposed ! 

Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, 
(And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,) 
I spake unto the crown, as having sense. 
And thus upbiaided it : — The care on tkee depending. 
Hath fed ui)on the body of my father ; 
Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold. 
And thou, most fine, most honored, most renowned. 
Hast eat thy hearer up. Thus, my most royal liege. 
Accusing it, I put it on my head ; 
To try with it, — as with an enemy. 
That had before my face murdered my father, — 
The quarrel of a true inheritor. 
But if it did infect my blood with joy, 
Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride; 
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 



VO POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

Did, with the least affection of a welcome, 
Give entertainment to the might of it. 
Let God forever keep it from my head ! 
And make me as the poorest vassal is. 
That doth with awe and teiTor kneel to it ! 

K. Hen. 0, my son ! 
Heaven put it in thy mind to take it hence. 
That thou mightst win the more thy father's love. 
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. 
Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed ; 
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son. 
By what by-paths, and indirect, crooked ways, 
I met this crown ; and I myself know well. 
How troublesome it sat upon my head : 
To tliee it shall descend with better quiet. 
Better opinion, better confirmation ; 
For all the soil of the achievement goes 
With me into the earth. It seemed in me. 
But as an honor snatched witli boisterous hand ; 
And I had many living, to upbraid 
My gain of it by their assistances ; 
Which daily grew to quarrel, and to bloodshed. 

What in me was purchased,'^ 
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort ; 
So thou the garland wear'st successively. 
Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do. 
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ; 
And all thy friends, whicli thou must make thy friends. 
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out ; 
By whose fell woiking I was first advanced, 
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear 
To be again displaced ; which to avoid, 
I cut them off ; and had a purpose now 
To lead out many to the Holy Land ; 
Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look 
Too near imto my state. Therefore, my Harry, 
Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds 
With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence bome out. 
May waste the memory of the former days. 
More would I but my hmgs are wasted so. 
That strength of speech is utterly denied me. 

• Not obtained in regular succession. 



SHAKSPEARE. Vl 

How I came by the crown, O God, forgive ! 
And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! 

P. Hen. My gracious Hege. 
You won it, wore it, ktpt it, gave it me : 
Then plain, and right, must my possession be ; 
Which I, with more than with a common pain, 
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. 

HENRY V. 

The noble change that he had 'purposed, as he bound his 
brows with the crown of his dying father, was exemplified 
in Prince Henry when he became King of England. One 
circumstance of his public conduct, which is finely exhibited 
by Shakspeare, is illustrative of his respect for the constitu- 
tion and laws of his kingdom, and, as an example of dis- 
interestedness and veneration for justice, does honor to his 
memory. 

Henry the Fifth, when Prince of Wales, was wild, and in 
the disgraceful society of Sir John Fid.staff, Poins, and other 
idlers, committed several offences against the laws. Some 
of his attendants had been taken up by the officers of jus- 
tice, for a riot, and were brouglit before the chief justice. 
Sir William Gascoigne. While they were in court. Prince 
Henry came, and rudely demanded that they should be 
released. The chief justice refused. The prince insulted, 
and, it is supposed, even struck the judge. The chief jus- 
tice with great dignity kept his seat upon the bench, and in 
the authoritative tone of a man to whom the execution of 
the laws is intrusted, rebuked the prince, and ordered him 
to be taken into custody. To this the prince, recollecting 
his dutv, becomingly submitted. 

It is related by an old historian that Prince Henry, being 
ordered to prison, " doing reverence" to the judge, depart- 
ed, and went to the King's Bench as he was commanded. 
One of his attendants, displeased at this indignity (as he 
deemed it), offered to the prince, and thinking to incense 
the King against the chief justice, repaired to his majesty 
Avith the whole affair. The King on hearing the circum- 
stance, paused for a moment, and then, lifting his eyes and 
clasped hands to Heaven, exclaimed, " O merciful God ! 
how much above all other men am I indebted to thine infi- 
nite goodness ; especially that thou hast given me a judge 



72 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

who feareth not to administer justice, and also a son who 
can suffer worthily and obey justice." 

After the death of liis father, when Henry became King, 
the nation expected he would give himself up to amuse- 
ment and intemperance, but on the contrary, he immediately 
assumed the deportment and conduct of a wise monarcli. 
Dismissing from his presence his former companions, instead 
of disoTacinf' the chief justice who had committed him, he 
thanked him for the firmness and dignity Avitli wliich lie 
had executed the laws, and conferred great favors upon 
him. 

King Henry, the Princes his brothers, and the Chief Justice. 

Ch. Just. Good morrow ; and heaven save your majesty ! 

Kinff. This new and goi-geous garment, majesty. 
Sits not so easy on me as you think. — 
Brothers, you mix your sadness Avith some fear ; 
This is the Enghsh, not the Turkish court. 

good brothers — be assured, 

I'll be your father and your brother too ; 

Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares. 

P. John and the others. We hope no other from your 
majesty. 

King. You all look strangely on me : — and you most ; 
You are, I think, assured I love you not. \T'o the Chief Just. 

Ch. Just. I am assured, if I be measured rightly. 
Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. 

King. No ! how might a prince of my great hopes forget 
So great indignities you laid upon me ? 
What! rate, rebuke, and rouglily send to prison 
The immediate heir of England? AVas this easy? 
May this be washed in Lethe, and forgotten ? 

Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your father ; 
The image of his power lay then in me : 
And, in the administration of his law, 
While I was busy for the commonwealth. 
Your highness pleased to forget my place, 
The majesty and power of law and justice. 
The image of the king whom I presented, 
And struck me in my very seat of judgment; 
Whereon, as an offender to your fathei-, 
I gave bold way to my authoiity. 
And did commit you. If the deed were ill, 



SHAKSPEARE. - V3 

Be you contented, wearing now the garland. 
To have a son set j^our decrees at naught ; 
To pluck down justice from your awful bench ; 
To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword 
That guards the peace and safety of your person : 
Nay, more ; to spurn at your most royal image, 
And mock your workings in a second body. 

Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours ; 
Be now the father, and propose a son : 
Hear your own dignity so much profaned. 
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted. 
Behold yourself so by a son disdained ; 
And then imagine me taking your part. 
And, in your power, soft silencing your son. 
After this cold considerance, sentence me ; 
And as you are a king, speak in your state, 
What I have done, that misbecame my place. 
My person, or my liege's sovereignty. 

King. You are right, justice, and you weigh this well; 
Therefore still bear the balance and the sword ; 
And I do wish your honors may increase, 
Till you do live to see a son of mine 
Oftend you, and obey you, as I did. 
So shall I live to speak my father's words ; — 
Happy am /, that have a man so hold. 
That dares do justice on my proper son : 
And, not less happy, having such a son, 
Tliat would deliver up his greatness so 
Into the hands of justice. — You did commit me ; 
For which, I do commit into j^our hand 
The unstain'd sword that you have used to bear ; 
With this remembrance, — That you use the same 
With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit. 
That you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand ; 
You shall be as a father to my youth : 
My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear ; 
And I will stoop and humble my intents 

To your well-practised, wise directions. 

And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ; 
My father's gone into his grave, and in 
His tomb lie all my wild affections ; 
And with his spirit sadly I survive. 
To mock the expectation of the world ; 

1 



74 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

To frustrate prophecies ; and to raze out 
Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down 
After my seeming. 

The tide of blood in me 
Hath proudly flowed in Aanity, till now. 
Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea ; 
Where it shall mingle with the state of floods. 
And flow henceforth in formal majesty. 
Now call we our high court of parliament : 
And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel. 
That the great body of our state may go 
In equal rank with the best governed nation ; 
That war, or peace, or both at once, may be 
As things acquainted and familiar to us : — 
In which you, father, shall have foremost hand. 

[ To the Lord Chief Justice. 

This is the .English, not the Turkish court. — Brothers, 
why should you fear me ? — You are not in the despotic 
country of Turkey, where a monarch, through fear that 
his brothers should kill him, in order that one of them may 
usurp the throne, to secure his own life takes theirs. You 
are in Britain, whei'e our knowledge and laws make me 
your protector ; and the institutions we live under induce 
me to trust as well as to defend you. 

Mr. Edgeworth, in Poetry Explained, has rendered the 
reply to the king into the following prose : — When the king 
asks, Was this easy ? Can it be easily forgotten? the judge's 
remonstrance signifies, " I tlien represented the person of 
your father (who is supposed to be present in this court of 
justice) ; his power was then in me, and Avhilst I was ad- 
ministering the laws, and busj^ for the common-weal (for 
the common good), your highness forgot my office — forgot 
the power and majesty of the laws and of justice — you 
forgot your father, whom I represented, and struck me on 
the bench of justice; whereupon I boldly exerted my au- 
thority, and sent you to prison. 

" If you think this wrong, you must be contented when, 
now you wear the garland (the crown), to have your son 
set your decrees at nought, to have him pull down the 
authority of your judgment-seat, to trip and stop the cur- 
rent course of law, and to take off the edge and power of 
the sword of justice, wjiich guards the peace and safetv of 



S H A K S P E A R E , t5 

your person ; nay more, you must submit to have your son 
affront your own royal image, represented and acting in the 
person of your judge, whom you substitute in your place. 
• " Question your royal thoughts ; make the case your 
own ; suppose yourself a father, and that you had a son ; 
suppose you heard your dignity scorned, and that you saw 
your laws disdained ; then Imagine me taking your part, 
and by your power, inherent in me, silencing your son. 
After having brought these images before your mind, and 
after cool consideration, pass sentence upon me ; and as 
you are a king, speak — not as a private person, but in the 
dignity of your public capacity, and declare what I have 
done unbecoming of my office, my person, or your sover- 
eignty," 

Your highness. — Highness is now a title of honor or 
respect, addressed to the sons and daughters of a king ; 
formerly it was used in addressing the king or queen. 

The Garland, — Shakspeare, in two or three places, calls 
the crown the garland. 

Liege's sovereignty. — Liege properly means a person to 
whom a certain duty or obedience is owing. Formerly, 
after the conquest of England by William the Conqueror, 
when the land of the kingdom was divided amongst his fol- 
lowers, or vassals, every man, instead of paying rent in 
money for the land which he held, was bound to supply the 
person from whom he held it, whenever that person de- 
manded them to fight his battles, with a certain number of 
armed men, on horseback, or on foot. The person to whom 
he owed this service was called his liege lord. Persons who 
were themselves princes frequently had liege lords over 
them ; in particular, the emperor of Germany had a great 
number of piinces and dukes for his vassals, who were all 
bound to him as their liege lord. 

Tlierefore still hear the balance and the sioord. — The chief 
justice of the Court of the King's Bench, or Queen's Bench, 
as may be, has neither a balance (a pair of scales), nor a 
sword, carried before him ; but tlie allegorical figure of Jus- 
tice is represented in painting and statuary by a female figure 
blindfold, to show that Justice should not respect the per- 
sons of people ; with a balance in her left hand, to denote 
that she weighs carefully before she determines ; and with. 
a sword in her right hand, to denote that Justice can 
punish offenders with the sword of the law. 



76 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Tlie Roman magistrates had axes surrounded with rods 
carried before them, as emblems of punishment ; the rods 
to punish smaller offences ; the axe to punish greater crimes 
with death. Though the judges have not swords carried 
before them, yet the king of England, who is the head of 
the law, and Avho is represented by the chief justice of the 
King's Bench, has the sword of state carried before him on 
days of ceremony. 

And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ; 
My father's gone into his grave, and in 
His tomb lie all my wild affections. 

Princes, believe me, my father has carried my wildness 
and youthful follies into his grave with him, for all my for- 
mer affections or propensities lie there ; and his sedate 
spirit lives in me, to disappoint the expectation which the 
world has of my being a dissipated monarch, and to contra- 
dict prophecies and opinions which are induced by my for- 
mer conduct. 

CYMBELINE. 

According to the old histories of Britain, about seventy 
years before the birth of our Saviour, a prince named Lud 
reigned over the southern part of the island. Lud was 
murdered, and his brother Cassibelan, excluding his sons 
from the throne, usurped the sovereign power. In the 
ninth year of the reign of Cassibelan, Julius Caesar, the 
Roman general, invaded Britain, and Tenantius, the younger 
son of Lud, aided him. When Cassibelan died, Tenantius 
was restored to his inheritance, and agreed to pay tribute 
to the Romans. 

Cassibelan had not been so submissive, for when Csesar 
sent to him a messenger demanding that he should confess 
himself subject to Rome ; should fay hommje, or acknow- 
ledge the authority of the Roman government over himself 
and his dominions, and, moreover, should pay tribute to 
Rome, he refused, saying, t at " The ambition of the Ro- 
mans was insatiable, who would not suffer Britain, to them 
a new world, placed by nature in the ocean and beyond the 
bounds of their empire, to lie unmolested." 

Cymbeline, the son of Tenantius, succeeded his father. 



B K A K S r E A R E . V7 

In liis youth Cymbeline was sent to Rome to be educated, 
was caressed by Augustus, and called the friend of the 
Roman people. The Romans liked to have hereditary 
pi-inces of partially conquered countries come to their capital 
and dwell with them, that the former might learn their 
language and laws, and respect their power, and, when they 
should return to their own dominions, make their subjects 
feel that it was desii'able to submit to the conquerors. The 
Romans did not always act thus, for they often treated cap- 
tive princes with extreme dignity, when the latter possessed 
great riches. 

Shakspeare represents that Cymbehne refused to pay 
tribute to Rome. In the play, or History of Cymbeline, 
Belarius, a British lord, is supposed by Cymbeline to con- 
nive with the Romans against him, and as a punishment, he 
banished Belarius from his court, 

Belarius being imjustly accused by his sovereign, took 
vengeance upon him by carrying off two young piinces, his 
sons, and keeping them in a cave until they had grown to 
be men. At that time the princes became tired of their 
lonely life in the woods, and thus remonstrated with Be- 
larius. 

BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, AND ARVIRARGUS. 
A mortntainous country toith a cave* 

Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such 
Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop boys : This gate 
Instructs you how to adore the heavens ; and bows you 
To a morning's holy office : The gates of monarchs 
Are arched so high that giants may jet through 
And keep their impious turbans on, without 
Good-morrow to the sun, — Hail, thou fair heaven! 

Gui. Hail, heaven! 

Arv. Hail, heaven ! 

Ikl. Now for our mountain sport : Up to yon hill, 
Your legs are young ; 

Oh, this life 

Is nobler, than attending for a check ; 
Richer, than doing nothing for a bribe ; 
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk ; 
No life to ours. 

Gui. Out of ^our proof you speak : we, poor unfledofed, 
7* 



'18 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Have never winged from view of the nest ; nor know not 

What air's from home. Haply this Ufe is best 

If qxiiet life be best ; sweeter to you, 

That have a sharper known ; well corresponding 

With your stiff age ; but unto us it is 

A cell of ignorance ; travelling abed, 

A prison for a debtor, that not dares 

To stride a limit. 

Arv. What should we speak of 
When we are as old as you ? When we shall hear 
The rain and wind beat dark December ; how 
In this, our pinching cave, shall we discourse 
The freezing hours away ? We have seen nothing : 
We are beastly ; subtle as the fox, for prey ; 
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat. 
Our valor is to chase what flies ; our cage 
We make a quire, as doth the prisoned bird, 
And sing our bondage freely. 

Bel. How you speak ! 
Did you but know the city's usuries. 
And felt them knowingly : the art of the court. 
As hard to leave, as keep ; whose top to climb 
Is certain falling, or so slippery that 
The fear 's as bad as falling : the toil of war, 
A pain that only seems to seek out danger 
I' the name of fame and honor : v/hich dies i' the search ; 
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph 
As record of fair act ; nay, many times, 
Doth ill deserve by doing well ; what 's worse. 
Must court'sy at the censure : — 0, boys, this story 
The world may read in me : My body 's marked 
With Roman swords ; and ray report was once 
First Avith the best of note : Cymbeline loved me 
And when a soldier was the theme my name 
Was not far off: Then was I as a tree 
Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But, in one night, 
A storm, or robber)^ call it what you will, 
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves. 
And left me bare to weather. 

Gui. Uncertain favor ! 

Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft) 
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevailed 
Before my perfect honor, swore to Cymbeline 



SHAKSPEARE. 79 

I was confederate with the Romans : so, 
Followed my banishment ; and, this twenty years 
This rock and these demesnes have been my world : 

• • — But, up to the mountains ; 

This is not hunter's language :^He that strikes 

The venison first shall be lord o' the feast ; 

To him the other two shall minister; 

And we will fear no poison, which attends 

In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys. 

[£!.veu7it Gui. and Arv. 
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature ! 
These boys know little they are sons to the king ; 
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. 
They think they are mine : and, though trained up thus 

meanly 
I' the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit 
The roofs of palaces ; and nature prompts them, 
In low and simple things to prince it much 
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore — ' 
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom 
The king his father called Guiderius, — Jove ! 
When on his three-foot stool I sit, and tell 
The warlike feats that I have done, his spirits fly out 
Into ray story : say, — ■" Thus mine enemy fell ; 
And thus I set my foot upon his neck " — even then 
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats — • 
Strains his j'oung nerves, and puts himself in posture 
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, 
(Once Arviragus,) in as like a figure 
Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more 
His own conceivintj. Hark ! the i^ame is roused ! 

O Cymbeline ! heaven, and my conscience, knows 
Thou didst unjustly banissh me: whereon. 
At three, and two years old, I stole these babes ; 
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as 
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile, 
Thou wast their nurse ; they took thee for their mother, 
And every day do honor to her grave : 
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan called, 
They take for natural father. The game is up. 



80 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

this gate 

Instructs you how to adore the heavens, <&c. 

This humble habitation of ours teaches our hearts humili- 
ty. The palaces of princes encoui-age their pride, but as 
we must bow our heads to pass out of this low cave, so are 
we reminded to prostrate ourselves before the majesty of 
Heavenv 

giants may jet through 

And keep their imjnous turbans on, (&c. 

As if Belarius had said, "They who dwell in king's 
houses are not likely, as we do, to pay homage to the sun 
at early morning." The parties spoken of are supposed to 
be heathens, and to worship the sun, and other powers of 
nature. To " keep their turbans on," implies want of re- 
verence, foi* men uncover their heads when they would show 
respect for the Deity in his temple, and even in presence of 
their fellow-men when they intend to honor them. 

■ — this life 

Is nobler than attending for a check, c&c. 

The innocent life we lead here in the woods, is truly 
"nobter," "richer," "prouder," to an honest mind, than 
the life of those who ask favors at court of princes and 
great men. They who do this, often only wait for a check, 
or refusal. 

Inexperienced youths^ in this safe retreat you know not 
the follies and vices of mankind. No life is so desirable 
as ours, for its innocence, peace, and security. 

Out of your proof you speak, <kc. — You know, for you 
have lived in the world, Avhat it is — good or bad — but we, 
unhappily, have received no such information. When we 
shall become as old as you, how deplorably unfurnished 
with all knowledge will our minds be — what shall we know 
to discourse upon ? " This dread of an old age unsupplied 
with matter for discourse and meditation, is a sentiment 
natural and noble. No state can be moi-e destitute than 
that of him who, when the delights of sense forsake him, 
has no pleasure of the mind," says Dr. Johnson, of this 
passage. 

How you speak, <6c. — Did ycm but know the vices of men 
who inhabit cities; the arts practised in king's houses ; the 
needless and cruel toil of war ; the slanders which some- 



MILTON. 81 

times follow the best men and the best conduct ; and the 
submissions whicli must be made to unjust censurers, you 
would not desire to abandon your present condition for one 
where so much may be suffered. 

A debtor that not dares to stride a limit. — When persons 
are imprisoned until they shall pay what they owe, they are 
sometimes allowed to go out to a certain distance. This is 
their limit. So far can they go, and no farther ; they dare 
not stride over, or pass their limit. 

Trick. — This word is sometimes used for habit, or prac- 
tice. 

It may be interesting to the young reader to be told that 
at the conclusion of this drama, the princes were restored 
to their father, the integrity of Belarius was vindicated, 
and he was received into favor by Cymbeline. 



MILTON 



Thy soul was like a star and dwelt apart. 

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea, 

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, 

So didst thou travel on life's common way. 

In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 

The lowliest duties on herself did lay. — Wordsworth. 

Milton, who is rightly classed among the most exalted of 
British poets, was the son of a gentleman in the middle 
rank of society, but the moral dignity of his character 
would have done honor to any station. For abjuring the 
Roman Catholic, and professing the Protestant faith, the 
elder Milton was disinherited by his father, and compelled 
to make his way in the world by industry and integrity 
only ; but his ability in business secured to him a compe- 
tent estate, and the happy turn of his mind rendered a 
moderate fortune sufficient. 

From the childhood of the poet, his father discerned his 
extraordinary endowments, and trained him with suitable 
care and skill. Milton was at first educated by a private 



82 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

tutor, then sent to a public school in London, and, at a 
proper age, was entered at the University of Cambridge. 
After his collegiate studies were finished, he spent a few 
years in a delightful rural retirement at Horton in Bucking- 
hamshire, and at the age of thirty repaired to the continent 
of Europe. All the influences of domestic culture, of self- 
tipplication, and of foreign travel, tended to give the highest 
finish to the character of a man on whom nature had be- 
stowed the most beautiful countenance, and the most 
subhme soul. 

During his residence in France and Italy, Milton's virtues 
and accomplishments gained him the friendship of some of 
the most gifted men of the age. He lived, in respect to his 
own country, at a period of political trouble ; but he was 
neither "a bigot of the iron time" of Cromwell, nor a sy- 
cophant in the licentious court of Charles II. He was a 
true republican, and Cromwell had distinguished him : con- 
sequently, after the Stuart ascended the throne, he fell into 
obscurity and neglect. But .what was infinitely more afl3ic- 
tive, he was totally deprived of sight at the age of forty- 
four years.* The happiness of this great man depended little 
upon fortune. His intellectual and moral worth gave dig- 
nity to his condition, and when he was removed from active 
life, he was not forsaken of honorable friendships. His 
divine complacency, and the consolations that sustained his 
spirit, are exhibited by his own declarations. 

A person engaged in a controversy with Milton, enraged 
at the zeal with which he supported the cause of civil and 
religious liberty, reproached him with his blindness, as a 
retribution of God upon the principles which he had de- 
fended. Upon this occasion, the poet made the following 
reply to his accuser : 

" I do not regard my lot either with weariness or com- 
punction ; I continue in the same sentiments fixed and im- 
moveable. I do not think God displeased with me, neither 
is he displeased ; on the contrary, I experience and thank- 
fully acknowledge his paternal clemency and benignity 
towards me in everything that is of the greatest moment ; 
specially in this, that he himself, consoling and encourag- 
ing my spirits, I acquiesce without a murmur in his sacred 
dis])ensations. It is through his grace that I find my 

• 1652. 



M I L T O N . 83 ■ 

friends, even more than before, kind and officious towards 
me — that they are ray consolers, honorers, visiters, and 
assistants. 

"Those who are of the highest consideration in the 
republic, finding that the light of my eyes departed from 
me, not being slothful and inactive, but while I was with 
constancy and resolution placing myself in the foremost 
post of danger for the defence of sacred liberty, do not on 
their part desert me. Nor is it an occasion of anguish to 
me, though you count it miserable, that I am fallen in 
vulgar estimation into the class of the blind, the unfortu- 
nate, the wretched, and the helpless; since my hope is, 
that I am thus brought nearer to the mercy and protection 
of the universal Father. 

*' There is a path, as the apostle teaches me, through 
weakness to a more consummate strength ; let me there- 
fore be helpless, so that in my debility the better and more 
immortal part of our human nature may be more effect- 
ually displayed ; so that amidst my darkness, the light of 
the Divine countenance may shine forth more bright — then 
shall I be at once helpless, and yet of giant strength ; 
blind, yet of vision most penetrating ; thus may I be in 
this helplessness carried on to fulness of joy, and in this 
darkness surrounded with the light of eternal day." — 
Translated from the Latin of Milton, Defenaio Secunda. 

The more powerful of Milton's poems may be found in 
different collections of poetry, as well as in his entire 
works ; such passages as were suitable to this book are 
here inserted. Cowper has translated from Milton's Latin 
poetry some endearing verses to the poet's father — they are 
an affecting acknowledgment of the benefits he had deriv- 
ed from that exemplary parent. 

TO MY FATHER. 

Thou hatedst not the gentle Muse, 



My father ! for thou never bad'st me tread 
The beaten path, and broad, that leads right on 
To opidence, nor didst condemn thy son 
To the insipid clamors of the bar. 
To laws voluminous, and ill observed : 
But, wishing to enrich me more, to fill 



84 P C K 1 U Y FOR SCHOOLS. 

My mind with treasure, ledst me far away 
From city-din to deep retreats, to banks 
And streams Aonian ; and, with free consent, 
Didst place me happy at Apollo's side. 

I speak not now, on more important themes 
Intent, of common benefits, and such 
As nature bids, but of thy larger gifts, 
My Father ! who, when I had opened once 
The stores of Roman rhetoric, and learned 
The full-toned language of the eloquent Greeks, 
Whose lofty music graced the lips of Jove, 
Thyself didst counsel me to add the fiow'rs 
Thait Gallia boasts, those too, with which the smootli 
Italian his degen'rate speech adorns, 
That witnesses his mixture with the Goth ; 
And Palestine's prophetic songs divine. 

To sum the whole, whate'er the heav'n contains, 
The earth beneath it, and the air between, 
The rivers and the restless deep, may all 
Prove intellectual gain to me, my wish 
Concurring with thy will ; science herself, 
All cloud removed, inclines her beauteous head, 
And oflFers me the lip, if dull of heart, 
I shrink not, and decline her gracious boon. 

Go now and gather dross, ye sordid minds. 
That covet it ; what could my father more ? 
What more could Jove himself, unless he gave 
His own abode, the heav'n, in which he reigns ? 
More eligible gifts than these were not 
Apollo's to his son, had they been safe, 
As they were insecure, who made the boy 
The world's vice-luminary, bade him rule 
The radiant chariot of the day, and bind 
To his young brows his own all-dazzling wreath 

I therefore, although last and least, my place 
Among the learned in the laurel grove 
Will hold, and where the conqu'ror's ivy twines. 
Henceforth exempt from the unlettered throng 
Profane, nor even to be seen by such. 
Away, then, sleepless Care, Complaint away, 



MILTON. 85 

And, Envy, with thy ' jealous leer malign !' 
Nor let the monster Calumny shoot forth 
Her venomed tongue at me. Detested foes ! 
Ye all are impotent against my peace. 
For I am privileged, and bear my breast 
Safe, and too high, for your viperian wound. 

But thou ! my Father, since to render thanks 
Equivalent, and to requite by deeds 
Thy liberality, exceeds my power. 
Suffice it, that I thus record thy gifts. 
And bear them treasured in a grateful mind ! 
Ye too, the favorite pastime of my youth, 
My voluntary numbers, if ye dare 
To hope longevity, and to survive 
Your master's funeral, not soon absorbed 
In the oblivious Lethsean gulf. 
Shall to futurity perhaps convey 
This theme, and by these praises of my sire 
Improve the Fathers of a distant age ! 

The hoy, the world's vice-luminary. — In mythology it is 
related that Apollo, or the Sun, permitted his son Phaeton 
to drive the celestial coursers, which, according to the 
fable, bear the sun round the earth, and that the unprac- 
tised charioteer would have set the world on fire h;id he 
not been precipitated into the river Po. 

Letlicean gulf. — Those who tasted the waters of Lethe 
forgot the past. 

Milton's minor pieces were written before he was thirty : 
the Paradise Lost was published when he had attained the 
age of sixty years. Comus, L' Allegro, and Penseroso, are 
delightful, but Paradise Lost has a power and tli'vation in 
it, a variety, and sublimity of excellence, which h;ive given 
to Milton that rank as a sacred poet which belongs to him 
only. But his fame was not awarded to him while he 
lived — his place in society was humble, and he was never 
distinguished during his life but by a few of his more dis- 
cerning contemporaries. 

" He stood alone," says Mr. Campbell, " and aloof above 
his times, the bard of immortal subjects, and, as far as 
there is perpetuity in language, of immortal fame. The 



86 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

very choice of those subjects bespoke a contempt of any 
species of excellence that was attainable by other men. 
There is something that overawes the mind in conceiving 
his long deliberated selection of that theme — his attempting 
it when his eyes were shut upon the face of nature — his 
dependence, we might almost say, on supernatural inspira- 
tion, and in the calm air of strength which which he opens 
Paradise Lost, beginning a mighty performance without the 
appearance of an effort. Taking the subject all in all, his 
powers could nowhere else have enjoyed the same scope. 
It was only from the height of his great argument that he 
could look back upon eternity past, and forward upon eter- 
nity to come, that he could survey the abyss of infernal 
darkness, open visions of Paradise, or ascend to heaven and 
breathe empyreal air." 

The subject of Paradise Lost is taken from that portion 
of the Hebrew Scriptures which relates to our first "parents. 
It supposes, what many Christians admit to be true in the- 
ology, that God placed the first human pair in a happy 
condition, and promised that they and all their posterity 
should remain for ever in that happy state, provided they 
would obey God ; but that, if they would disobey the 
divine commands, they should be punished. They dis- 
obeyed God, were driven out of Paradise, and they and all 
their descendants were, thenceforth, made liable to sin, 
sorrow, and death. 

Satan, a malignant spirit, tempted the first woman to 
break the prohibition of God, she tempted her husband, and 
both, in consequence of their weakness, were driven out 
from Eden, their primitive dwelling-place, and destined to 
" labor and sorrow " in some other region. The only alle- 
viation which their expulsion from Paradise admitted, was 
the promise of God, that " one greater man'' than Adam 
should restore his descendants to the moral image of God, 
which they had forfeited, and likewise reconcile them to 
God's government and will. 



SENTENCE PRONOUNCED ON ADAM AND EVE. 

In the Xlth Book of the Paradise Lost, Adam and Eve, 
after they had broken the Divine command, are represented 
as lamenting their ofilence, when Michael, a spirit sent from 



MILTON, 87 

God, descends to them, and commands them to leave their 
native Pai-adise. Perceiving his approach, Adam to Eve 

thus spake : 



Eve, now expect great tidings, wliicli perhaps 
Of us will soon determine, or impose 
New laws to be observed ; for I descry 
From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill 
One of the heav'nly host, and by his gait 
None of the meanest, some great potentate 
Or of the thrones above, such majesty 
Invests him coming ; yet not terrible. 
That I should fear, nor sociably mild, 
As Raphael, that I should much confide. 
But solemn and sublime, whom not t' offend, 
With rev'rence I must meet, and thou retire. 

He ended ; and the Archangel soon drew nigh, 
Not in his shape celestial, but as man 
Clad to meet man ; over his lucid arms 
A military vest of purjile flowed, 
Livelier than Melihcean, or the grain 
Of Sarra, worn hy kings and heroes old 
In time of truce ; Iris had dipt the woof; 
His starry helm unbuckled showed him prime 
In manhood where youth ended ; by his side 
As in a glist'ning zodiac hung the sword, 
Satan's dire dread, and in his hand the spear. 
Adam bowed low : he kingly from his state 
Inclined not, but his coming thus declared : 

Adam, heaven's high behest no preface needs : 
Sufficient that thy pray'rs are heard, and death. 
Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress. 
Defeated of his seizure many days. 
Given thee of grace, wherein thou mayst repent, 
And one bad act with many deeds well done 
May'st cover : well may then thy Lord appeased 
Redeem thee quite from Death's rapacious claim ; 
But longer in this Paradise to dwell 
Permits not ; to remove thee I am come. 
And send thee from the garden forth to till 
The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil. 

He added not, for Adam at the news 
Heart-struck with chilling grip of sorrow stood. 



88 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

That all his senses bound ; Eve, who unseen 
Yet all had heard, with audible lament 
Discover'd soon the place of her retire." 

A military vest, dr. — This magnificent attire of the arch- 
angel is compared with that of Asiatic kings, who in an- 
cient times endeavored in their warfare to astonish their 
enemies b} their splendor, as well as to overcome them by 
their military prowess. 

Iris Imd dijH the woof. — The ivoof of any texture is com- 
posed of the transverse threads which interlace the threads 
that form the warj) of the woven substance. Iris is the 
goddess of the rainbow, which exhibits all the prismatic 
colors, and consequently the most pure and vivid hues in 
nature. 

THE DEPARTURE FROM PARADISE. 

The archangel fulfils the commission with which God 
had entrusted him with peculiar tenderness to our first 
parents. They are not driven without gracious preparation 
into an untried condition of existence. Michael " ascends 
in the vision of God " with Adam, and foreshows to him 
the degeneracy and misery of his posterity, but to console 
him for these tremendous prospects, he reveals to him 
"salvation by Jesus Christ" — the reformation of a "per- 
verted world," and the commencement of a kingdom, 

"Founded in righteousness, and peace, and love, 
To bring forth fruits, joy and eternal bliss." 

Thus enlightened and encouraged, Adam submissively 
replies to his celestial visitant — 

Greatly instructed I shall hence depart ; 
Greatly in peace of thought ; and have my fill 
Of knowledge, what this vessel can contain; 
Beyond which was my folly to aspire. 
Henceforth I learn, that to obey is best, 
And love, with fear, the only God, to walk 
As in his presence, ever to observe 
His providence, and on him sole depend ; 
Merciful over all his works, with good 



MILTON. 80 

Still overcoming evil, and by small 

Accomplishing great things ; by things deemed weak 

Subverting worldly strong, and worldly wise 

By simply meek ; that suffering for truth's sake 

Is fortitude to highest victory ; 

And to the faithful, death the gate of life; 

Taught this by his example whom I now 

Acknowledge my Redeemer ever blest.'' 

To whom thus also the angel last replied : 
" This having learned, thou hast attained the sum 
Of wisdom ; hope no higher, though all the stars 
Thou knew'st by name, and all the ethereal pow'rs 
All secrets of the deep, all Nature's works. 
Or works of God in heaven, air, earth, or sea. 
And all the riches of this world enjoy'dst, 
And all tliv rule, one empire ; only add 
Deeds to thy knowledge answerable; add fiiith, 
Add virtue, patience, temperance ; add love, 
By name to come, called Charity, the soul 
Of all the rest : then wilt thou not be loth 
To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess 
A Paradise within thee, happier far. 

" Let us descend now, therefore, from this top 
Of speculation ; for the hour precise 
Exacts our parting hence ; and see, the guards, 
B}'^ me encamped on yonder hill, — expect 
Their motion, at whose front a flaming sword 
In signal of remove, waves fiercely round. 
We may no longer stay : go, waken Eve ; 
Her also I with gentle dreams have calmed. 
Portending good, and all her spirits composed 
To meek submission : thou, at season fit 
Let her with thee partake what thou hast heard ; 
Chiefly what ma)' concern her faith to know : 
That ye may live, which will be many days, 
Both in one faith unanimous though sad. 
With cause, for evil past, yet much more cheered 
With meditation on the happy end." 

He ended, and they both descend the hill ; 
Descended, Adam to the bow'r where Eve 



90 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Lay sleeping, ran before, but found her waked ; 
And thus with words not sad she him received: 

" Whence thou return'st, and whither went'st, I know ; 
For God is also in sleep ; and dreams advise. 
Which he hath sent propitious, some great good 
Presaging, since with sorrow and heart's distress 
Wearied I fell asleep : but now lead on ; 
In me is no delay : with thee to go, 
Is to stay here ; witliout thee here to stay, 
Is to go hence unwilling ; thou to me 
Art all things under heaven, all places thou, 
Who for my wilful crime art banished hence. 
This further consolation yet secure 
I carry hence ; though all by me is lost, 
Such favor I unworthy am vouchsafed, 
By me the promised Seed shall all restore." 

So spake our mother Eve, and Adam heard 
Well pleased, but answered not ; for now too nigh 
The archangel stood ; and from the other hill 
To their fixed station, all in bright array 
The cherubim descended, on the ground 
Gliding meteorous, as evening mist 
Risen from a river o'er the marish glides. 
And gailiers ground fast at the lab'rer's heel 
Homeward returning. High in front advanced, 
The brandished sword of God before them blazed, 
Fierce as a comet ; which, with torrid heat, 
And vapor as the Lybian air adust. 
Began to parch that temp'rate clime ; whereat 
In either hand the hast'ning Angel caught 
Our lingering parents, and to the eastern gate 
Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast 
To the subjected plain ; then disappeared. 

They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld 
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, 
Waved over by that flaming brand ; the gate 
With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms. 
Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them soon : 
The world was all before them, where to choose 
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide : 



MILTON. fll 

They hand in hand, with wand'ring steps and slow. 
Through Eden took their soUtary way. 

PARTHIA. 

The subject of Paradise Regained may be found in the 
fourth chapter of the gospel of St, Mattliew — it is what is 
commonly called the Temptation of Christ. When this 
event occurred, our Saviour had attained the age of thirty 
years, and was about to begin that moral revolution in the 
world which his teaching and example afterwards accom- 
plished. From the Gospel history it appears that at this 
time an evil spirit counselled him to assume the state of 
a temporal prince ; but to have done this he must have 
accommodated himself to prevailing vices and institutions 
wholly incompatible with his high office, and as he came 
into the world in the name of the Lord his God, he resolv- 
ed to serve him only, and not the Prince of this world. 

The tempter " showed him all the kingdoms of the 
world, and the glory of them." The most remarkable 
nations then existing were the Parthians, the Greeks, and 
Romans. Parthia, on the ancient maps, was the country 
immediately east of Syria, and south of the Caspian sea, 
and contained at that time a populous and powerful state. 
Among the kingdoms which, according to Milton, passed 
under the survey of Jesus, was Parthia, and he has describ- 
ed its warfare — military prowess, or mere physical force, 
being the chief distinction of that barbarous nation. 

" There 



Artaxata, Teredon, Ctesiphon, 

Turning with easy eye, thou may'st behold. 

All these the Parthian, now some ages past, 

By great Arsaces led, who founded 6rst 

That empire, under his dominion holds. 

From the luxurious kings of Antioch won. 

And just in time thou com'st to have a view 

Of his great power ; for now the Parthian king 

In Ctesiphon hath gathered all his host 

Against the Scythian, whose incursions wild 

Have wasted Sogdiana ; to her aid 

He marches now in haste. See, though from far, 

His thousands, in what martial equipage 



92 POETRT FOR SCHOOLS. 

They issue forth, steel bows, and shafts, their arms, 

Of equal dread in flight, or in pursuit ; 

All horsemen, in which fight they most excel ; 

See how in warlike muster they appear 

In rhombs and wedges, and half-moons, and wings." 

He looked, and saw what numbers numberless 
The city-gates out-poured, light armed troops 
In coats of mail and military pride ; 
In mail their horses clad, yet fleet and strong, 
Prancing their riders bore, the flower and choice 
Of many provinces from bound to bound ; 
He saw them in their forms of battle ranged, 
How quick they wheeled, and flying behind them sbot 
Sharp sleet of arrowy showers against the face 
Of their pursuers, and overcome by flight ; 
The field all iron cast a gleaming brown : 
Nor wanted clouds of foot, nor on each horn, 
Cuirassieis all in steel for standing fight. 
Chariots or elephants endorsed with towers 
Of archers, nor of lab'ring pioneers 
A multitude with spades and axes armed, 
To lay hills plain, fell woods, or vallej's fill, 
Or, where plain was, raise hill, or overlay 
With bridges rivers proud, as with a yoke: 
Mules after these, camels and dromedaries, 
And wagons frauglit with utensils of war. 

Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp, 
When Agrican with all his northern powers 
Besieged Albracca, as romances tell. 
The city of Gallaphorne, from whence to win 
The fairest of her sex, Angelica, 
His daughter, sought by many pro west knights 
Both Paynim, and the peers of Charlemagne : 
Such and so numerous was their chivalry. 

Such forces met not, nor so lolde a camp, dx. — An expla- 
nation of these lines may be found in an Italian poem called 
Orlando Inamorata, which was written in the fifteenth 
century. Agrican, a Tartar prince, and a Mahommedan, 
besieged the city of Albracca. Gallaphorne was the king of 
Albracca, and Angelica, " the fairest of her sex," was his 
daughter. This beautiful lady was sought by Roland, or 
Orlando, one of the peers of Charlemagne. Orlando, ia 



MILTON. 93 

the poem, kills Agrican. The whole narrative is a fiction, 
but the fabulous army of Agrican served Milton for com- 
parison with the Parthian host. 

Charlemagne was Emperor of the Franks, since called 
the French, and a great promoter of the civilization of 
Europe. He lived A.D. 800. The French romance wri- 
ters composed many fictions concerning his achievements, 
and to one of these Milton refers in this place. 

Prowest knights. — Courageous and strong knights. 

Paynim. — Pagan. 

ROME. 

Milton had been at Rome. Her ruins still testify her 
former magnificence, and he doubtless felt all that the con- 
templation of her departed glory inspires. The time he 
describes was in the reign of Tiberius, the successor of 
Augustus. The city of Rome had been increasing ia 
riches and splendor for almost eight centuries, and for 
three of these centuries the Roman arms had been carried 
beyond the limits of Italy. The commerce of Rome ex- 
tended from Britain to India ; and the inhabitants of this 
vast metropolis, computed to be several millions, consisted, 
like those of Jerusalem, of every nation under heaven ; that 
is, of people from all countries then civilized. This is suffi- 
ciently plain from the animated description given of Rome 
by Milton : 

He brought our Saviour to the western side 
Of that high mountain, whence he might behold 
Another plain ; thence in the midst 
Divided by a river, on whose banks 
On each side an imperial city stood. 
With tow'rs and temples proudly elevate 
On sev'n small hills, with palaces adorned. 
Porches and theatres, baths, aqueducts. 
Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs. 
Gardens and groves presented to his eyes. 
And now the tempter thus his silence broke : 

" The city, which thou seest, no other deem 
Than great and glorious Rome, queen of the earth. 
So far renowned, and with the spoils enriched 
Of nations ; there the capitol thou seest 



94 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Above the rest lifting his stately head 
On the Tarpeian rock, her citadel 
Impregnable ; and there mount Palatine, 
Th' imperial palace, compass huge and high 
The structure, skill of noblest architects, 
With gilded battlements, conspicuous far. 
Turrets and terraces, and glittering spires. 
Many a fair edifice besides, more like 
Houses of gods, thou may'st behold 
Outside and inside both, pillars and roofs, 
Carved work, the hand of famed artificers 
In cedar, marble, ivory, or gold. 

" Thence to the gates cast round thine eye, and see 
What conflux issuing forth, or entering in. 
Praetors, proconsuls to their provinces 
Hasting, or to return, in robes of state ; 
Lictors and rods, the ensigns of their power, 
Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings ; 
Or embassies from regions far remote, 
In various habits on the Appian road, 
Or on th' ^milian, some from farthest south, 
Syene, and where the shadow both way falls, 
Meroe, Nilotic isle, and more to west, 
The realm of Bocchus to the Black-moor sea ; 
From the Asian kings and Parthian among these. 
From India and the golden Chersonese, 
And utmost Indian isle Taprobane, 
Dusk faces with white silken turbans wreathed 
From Gallia, Gades, and the British west, 
Germans and Scythians, and Sarraatians north 
Beyond Danubius to tlie Tauric pool. 

" All nations now to Rome obedience pay ; 
To Rome's great Emperor, whose wide domain 
In ample territory, wealth and power. 
Civility of manners, arts and arms, 
And long renown, thou justly may'st prefer 
Before the Parthian ; these two thrones except, 
The rest are barbarous, and scarce worth the sight. 
Shared among petty kings too far removed. 
These having shown thee, I have shown thee all 
The kingdoms of the world, and all their glory." 

The reader, who has been instructed in history, knows 



MILTON. 95 

that this splendor has in the course of 3'ears passed av/ay, 
and that though travellers still resort to Rome for the 
gratification of curiosity, yet the monuments of its greatness 
form the present attraction to it. Under the Emperors, 
such bloody civil wars raged at Rome, that it became an 
unsafe and unhappy residence ; the arts of peace were 
neglected, and its population insensibly diminished. The 
Goths and other barbarians devastated the empire ; and in 
A. D. 476, Rome was abandoned by its last Emperor. 
Then Genseric and Alaric, two barbarian generals, with 
their infatuated armies, took and ravaged the city of the 
Caesars. But they did not entirely demolish it — it has ever 
retained its name, and after its conquerors grew weary of 
destruction, civilization sprung up from its ashes. 

In A. D. 800, Charlemagne, Avho included Italy in his 
conquests, yielded the city to the Pope, formerly the Bishop 
of Rome. From that time Rome became the capital of a 
new dominion — that of the Catholic religion. The fine arts 
of painting, sculpture, and architecture, have attained to 
high perfection in modern Rome. Still Rome continually 
decays, and its present population Httle exceeds 100,000, 
Mr. Pope describes Rome thus : 

See the wild waste of all-devouring yeai-s ! 

How Rome her own sad sepulchre appeals. 

With nodding arches, broken temples spread; 

The very tombs now vanish like their dead ! 

Imperial wonders raised on nations spoiled, 

Where mixed with slaves the groaning martyr toiled; 

Huge theatres, that now unpeopled woods. 

Now drained a distant country of her floods : 

Fanes, which admiring gods with pride survey ; 

Statues of men scarce less alive than they ! 

Some felt the silent stroke of mouldering ag(% 

Some hostile fury, some religious lage. 

Barbarian blindness. Christian zeal conspire. 

And Papal piety, and Gothic fire. 

Perhaps, by its own ruins saved from flame, 

Some buried marble half preserves a name ; 

That name the learned with fierce disputes pursue, 

And give to Titus old Vespasian's due. 



96 POETRY FOB SCHOOLS. 

Barbarian blindness, Christian zeal conspire, 
And Papal piety, and Gothic fire. — 

These several causes contributed to the destruction of 
Rome. The Goths, with undiscerning fury, burnt, battered 
down, and buried many beautiful works of ancient art ; and 
the Catholic Christians, finding among the buildings of 
Rome many heathen temples and many statues of ancient 
gods and heroes, thought it their duty to destroy those re- 
mains of Paganism. 

Some buried marble half preserves a name. — It has be- 
come desirable among the curious and the learned to recover 
as much as possible of the buried sculpture of ancient Rome. 
Much of this has been disinterred, and many disputes among 
connoisseurs have originitated in the doubtful character of 
these marbles. 



ATHENS. 

In describing the glories of the world, to disregard a 
place where the human mind had attained the highest per- 
fection, and where tlie arts had flourished for ages, would 
have been an oversight not at all characteristic of the per- 
vading intelligence which comprehended the various genius 
of them all. Therefore, before he descends from the mount 
of observation, the tempter stops awhile to point out the 
distinguishing genius of Athens. That city had then for 
two centuries been under the dominion of Rome, but her 
language, her monuments, her traditions, and many of her 
institutions still existed ; and thither the best educated of 
the Romans resorted to complete their course of study. 
Milton's verses represent Athens thus : 

_ « Behold 



Where on the ^gean shore a city stands. 

Built nobly, pure the air, and light the soil : 

Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts 

And eloquence, native to famous wits 

Or hospitable, in her sweet recess, 

City or suburban, studious walks and shades ; 

See there the olive grove of Academe, 

Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird 

Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long. 



MILTON. 97 

There flowery bill Hymettus, with the sound 
Of bees' industrious muimur, oft invites 
To studious musing ; there Ilissus rolls 
His w]iisi)'ring stream : within the wall then view 
The schools of ancient sages ; his, who bred 
Great Alexander to subdue the world, 
Lyceum tliere, and painted Stoa next : 
There shalt thou hear and learn the secret power 
Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit 
By voice or liand, and various measured verse 
^olian charms and Dorian lyric odes, 
And his who gave them breatli, but higher sung, 
Blind Melesigenes, thence Homer called, 
Whose poem Phoebus challenged for his own. 

Thence what the lofty grave tragedians taught 
In chorus or iambic, teacheis best 
Of moral prudence, with delight received 
In brief sententious precepts, while they treat 
Of fate and chance, and change in human life, 
High actions and high passions best describing. 
Thence to the famous orators repair, 
Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence 
Wielded at will that fierce democratie. 
Shook th' arsenal, and fulmined over Greece, 
To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne. 

To sage philosophy next lend thine ear. 
From heav'n descended to the low-rooft house 
Of Soci'ates ; see there his tenement. 
Whom well inspired the oracle pronounced 
Wisest of men ; from whose mouth issued forth 
Mellifluous streams, that watered all the schools 
Of Academics, old and new, with those 
Sirnamcd Pe:ipatetics, and the sect 
Epicurean, and the Stoic severe. 

The poets, orators, and philosophical schools of Athens 
are only mentioned here, ^schylus, Sophocles, and Euri- 
pides were the grave tragedians — fcachcrs best of 7noral 
pi-udence, The challenge of Phojbus means that Homer's 
poetry was declared by some to be that of Apollo himself. 
jEolian charms avd Dorian lyric odes, alludes to different 
measures and dialects of Greek poetry. He, who bred great 
Alexander, was the philosopher Aristotle. The chief of the 

9 



98 r U K T H V F }l SCHOOLS. 

thundering orators, was Demostlicnes, who exhorted his 
countrymen by the most powerful eloquence to resist Philip 
of Macedon. Socrates was so pure, humble, and powerful 
a moralist, that he has sometimes been compared with the 
founder of our religion. 

COMUS. 

Among the ancients, Comus was the god of low plea- 
sures — of those noisy and foolish frolics which are suited to 
night rather than day, and which some ignorant and intem- 
perate people delight in. Milton's Masque of Comus is a 
beautiful poem : it is founded upon the supposed power 
which Comus possesses over the minds of the pure and 
wise, and over the weak and sensual. Milton presumes 
that when men devote themselves to the rites of Comus, 
that is, t» excessive drinking, and, as the Gospel says, to 
*' riotous living," they become in reality beasts, though they 
know not that they are thus degraded, but, that if the mind 
is firm in good principles it will resist every attraction of 
vice, and retain its innocence imder the strongest tempta- 
tions. Comus was written in the dramatic form, to be 
represented by the Earl of Bridgewater's family at Ludlow 
Castle. 

The Fable of Comus is this — A beautiful lady, accompa- 
nied by her two brothers, is journeying through the ^jer- 
plexed 2Mths of a dr-ear wood. A spirit from heaven, charged 
with the care of the young travellers, secretly watches over 
them, but the brothers for a while are separated from their 
sister. The lady, in the absence of her brothers, is found 
by Comus, but she resists all his attractions, and though 
she is endangered, finally escapes from his snares. 

Comus enters with a charming-rod in one hand, his 
glass in the other ; with him a rout of monsters, headed 
like sundry sorts of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and 
women, their apparel glistening ; they come in making a 
riotous and unruly noise, with torches in their hands. 

The lady hears this noise, but does not see the revellers. 
She is introduced listening and in doubt, but encouraging 
herself in her own innocence, and in the gracious protection 
of the " Supreme Good." 



MILTON. 99 



The Lady enters. 



This way the noise was, if mine ear be true, 

My best guide now : metbought it was the sound 

Of riot and ill-managed merriment, 

Such as the jocund flute, or gamesome pipe 

Stirs up amongst the loose unlettered nmds, 

When from their teeming flocks, and granges full. 

In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan, 

And thank the gods amiss. I should be loth 

To meet the rudeness, and swilled insolence 

Of such late Avassailers ; yet, oh ! where else 

Shall I inform my unacquainted feet 

In the blind mazes of this tangled wood ? 

My brothers, when they saw me wearied out 

With this long way, resolving here to lodge 

Under the spreading favor of these pines, 

Stept, as they said, to the next thicket side 

To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit 

As the kind hospitable woods provide. 

They left me, then, when the grey-hooded Even, 

Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed, 

Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' wain. 

But where they are, and why they came not back. 

Is now the labor of my thoughts : • ' • 

• A thousand fantasies 
Begin to throng into my memory, 
Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, 
And aery tongues, that syllable mens' names. 
On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses. 

These thoughts may startle well, but not astound 
The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended 
By the strong-siding champion Conscience. — 

welcome pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope, 
Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings. 
And thou unblemished form of chastity 1 

1 see ye visibly, and now believe 

That he, the Supreme Good, t' whom all things ill 
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance, 
Would send a glist'ring guardian, if need were. 
To keep my hfe and honor unassailed. 

Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the night ? 



100 POETRT FOR SCHOOLS. 

1 did not err, there does a sable cloud 
TiuTi forth her silver lining on the night, 
And casts a grleam over this tufted grove. 
I cannot halloo to my brothers, but 
Siich noise as I can make to be heard farthest 
I'll venture ; for my new enlivened spirits 
Prompt me ; and they perhaps are not far off. 



Sweet Echo, sweetest nj^mph, that liv'st unseen 
Within thy aery shell. 
By slow Meander's margent green, 
And in the violet embroidered vale 

Where the love-lorn nightingale 
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well : 
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair 
Tii.a likest thy Narcissus are ? 

0, if thou have 
Hid them in some flow'ry cave, 
Tell me but where. 
Sweet queen of parly, daughter of the sphere ! 
So may'st thou be translated to the skies. 
And give resounding graces to all heaven's harmonies. 

Com us appears to the lady in the disguise of a shepherd. 

Com. Can anj^ mortal mixture of earth's mould 
Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment ? 
Sure something holy lodges in that breast, 
And with these raptures moves the vocal air 
To testify his hidden residence : 
How sweetly did they float upon the wings 
Of silence, through the empty vaulted night, 
At every fall smoothing the raven-down 
Of d;ii-kness till it smiled ! I have oft heard 
Aly Mother Circe with the Sirens three. 
Amidst the flowery kirtled Naiades 
Culling their potent herbs, and baleful drugs. 
Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul. 
And lap it in Elysium : Scylla wept, 
And chid her barking waves into attention, 
And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause; 



MILTOKi 101 

Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense, 

And in sweet madness robbed it of itself ; 

But such a sacred, and homefelt delight, 

Such sober certainty of waking bliss, 

I never felt till noAV. I'll speak to her, 

And she shall be my queen. Hail, foreign wonder f 

Whom certain these rough shades did never breed, 

Unless the goddess that in rural shrine 

Dwell'st here with Pan, or Silvan, by blest song 

Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog 

To touch the prosp'rous growth of this tall wood. 

Lady. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise 
That is addressed to unattending ears ; 
Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift 
How to regain my severed company, 
Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo 
To give me answer from her mossy couch. 

Conuis. What chance, good lady, hath bereft you thus 1 

Lady. Dim darkness and this leafy labyrinth, 

Comus. Could that divide you from near^ushering 
guides ? 

Lady. They left me, weary,- on a grassy turf, 

Comus. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why ? 

Lady.. To seek i' the v^alley some cool friendly spring. 

Comus. And left your fair side all unguarded. Lady ? 

Lady. They were but twain, and purposed quick return. 

Comus. Perhnps forestalling night prevented them. 

Lady. How easy my misfortune is to hit ! 

Comus. Imports their loss, beside the present need ? 

Lady. No less than if I should my brothers lose. 

Camus. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom 1 

iMdy. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazored lips. 

Comus. Two such I saw, what time the labored ox 
In his loose traces from the fui'row came, 
And the swinkt hedger at his supper sat ; 
I saw them under a green mantling vine 
That crawls along the side of yon small hill. 
Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots ; 
Their port was more than human, as they stood '. 
I took it for a fairy vision 
Of some gay creatures of the element. 
That in the colors of the rainbow live, 
And play i' the plighted clouds. I "was awe-struck, 
9* 



102 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

And as I passed, I worshipped ; if those you seek, 
It were a journey like the path to Heaven, 
To help you find them. 

Lady. Gentle Villager, 
What readiest Way would bring nae to that place ? 

Comus. Due west it rises from this shrubby point. 

Lady. To find out that, good Shepherd, I suppose, 
In such a scant allowance of star-light. 
Would overtask the best land-pilot's art. 
Without the sure guess of vrell- practised feet. 

Comus. I know each lane, and every alley green, 
Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood. 
And every bosky bourn from side to side. 
My daily walks and ancient neighborhood ; 
And if your stray-attendance be yet lodg'd, 
Or shroud within these limits, I shall know 
Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark 
From her thatched pallet rouse ; if otherwise 
I can conduct you, Lady, to a low 
But loyal cottage, where you may be safe 
Till further quest. 

Lady. Shepherd, I take thy word, 

And trust thy honest offered courtesy, 
Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds 
With smoky rafters, than in tap'stry halls 
And courts of princes, where it first was named, 
And yet is most pretended : in a place 
Less warranted than this, or less secure, 
I cannot be, that I should fear to change it. 
Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial 
To my proportioned strength. Shepherd, lead on. 

Milton has been accused as being deficient in respect to 
the female character. He speaks of Eve in regard to 
Adam, as "not equal," and seems to consider her as not 
altogether worthy to discoui-se with the angel who came 
from Heaven to Paradise. But nothing can surpass the 
delicacy and elevation of sentiment with which he repre- 
sents the Lady in Comus, nor does he seem to consider her 
as a solitary instance of the excellence and loveliness pecu- 
liar to her sex. 

The celestial Spirit who attends the brothers and their 
sister, distinguishes between those low-minded beings all 



MILTON. 103 

wliose tliouglits are limited to this world, and that superior 
order, 

that b}'- due steps aspire 



To lay their just hands on that golden key 
That opes the palace of Eternity : — 
To such my errand is — 

says he. And the Lady's brothers, when they have left 
her, are relieved of their natural appreliension for her 
safety, by the conviction of her exalted purity. One of 
them says — 

My sister is not so defenceless left 

As you imagine ; she has a hidden strength 

Which you remember not. 

So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity. 

That when a soul is found sincerely so, 

A thousand liveried Angels lacky her. 

Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, 

And in clear dream and solemn vision, 

Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, 

Till oft converse with heavenly habitants 

Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape. 

The unpolluted temple of the mind, 

And turn it by degrees to the soul's essence. 

Till all be made immortal. 

Circe — the mother of Comus, was an enchantress who 
inhabited an island of the Mediterranean, and who, like her 
son, transformed her associates to brutes. 

The Si/rens three — were females who inhabited a small 
island near Sicily. They charmed mariners by their delight- 
ful voices, and made them delay their voyage. 

Scylla wept. — Scylla was a female who was transformed 
to a monster by the arts of Circe, and was fixed to the 
strait of Messina. A whirlpool on the coast opposite to 
Scylla was Charyhdis. 

Naiades. — Young and beautiful virgins who presided 
over rivers and fountains. 

Echo siuectest nymph. — Echo is the return of sound — but 
the mythology supposes that Echo is the voice of a female, 



104 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

"wlio, as a punishment for loquacity, is invisible, and only 
permitted to repeat the words of others. Narcissus was a 
beautiful youtli whom Echo loved. 

Meander. — A river of Asia Minor, remarkable for its 
winding course. 

Pan and Sylvan. — Wood gods. 

Hebe. — A youthful goddess, very beautiful. Canova's 
statue of Hebe is among the most admired works of that 
artist. 



DRYDEN 



This eminent poet was born in 1631, and died in 1700', 
His poetry is not of a character to interest the young, but 
the passages inserted among these specimens serve to illus- 
trate the manners of a past age, and therefoi'e properly 
belong to a collection of poetry which is intended not mere- 
ly to contain verses, but also to exhibit facts that are con- 
nected with the poetry of the English language. 

TOURNAMENTS. 

Chivalry went out of use because the laws in Europe 
■were improved by the increasing knowledge and good sense 
of the people. When the order of government and the 
authority of the laws were generally understood and ac- 
knowledged in England, the rights of all people were no 
longer defended by the strife of arms, but were settled by 
courts of justice, and all ranks of the nation learned to 
respect each other. The English barons first disputed the 
arbitrary power of the kings, and the people learned from 
their example to consider themselves men ; and all classes 
in society, because they knew better, left off preying upoi> 
their weaker neighbors. 

The English nobility, when fighting began to be less 
needed as a defence, began to take care of their estates, and 
at length they gave up the military service of the vassals, 
who continued peaceable laborers upon the grounds of the 
landholders. The laws and the public opinion no longer per- 



DRYDES. 105 

milted men to take up arms except in the service of the 
state, when the Parhament and the king sliould order tliem 
to do so. 

Tlie evils wliich had disturbed society, for the want of 
knowledge, and the want of laws properly administered, 
ceased to exist ; but the amusements and public spectacles 
which had been connected wnth Chivalry, though Chivalry 
no longer continued as the profession of gentlemen, still 
interested people. The most memorable of the exhibitions 
connected with chivalry, was the Tournament, or Passage 
of Arms. This w^as a trial of strength and skill at the vari- 
ous exercises which the Knights-errant and gentlemen-sol- 
diers had practised in actual warfare. Th(? tournament was 
usually held by the desire of some prince or distinguished, 
nobleman, and Avas practised in France and England. The 
novel of Ivanhoe gives a delightful description of a tourna- 
ment held at Ashby, in the county of Leicester, in England. 

For the purpose of exhibiting the tournament, a smooth 
surface of ground of considerable extent was chosen, and 
an oblong square, about a quarter of a mile in length, and 
an eighth of a mile in breadth, was enclosed by palisades: 
— gates at the opposite ends of this enclosure admitted the 
combatants. The tents or pavilions of these champions 
were ornamented with flags and pennons — these were of the 
particular color which was usually worn by the Knights. 
" The cords of the tents were of the same color. Before 
each pavilion was suspended the shield of the Knight by 
whom it was occupied, and beside it stood his squire, quaintly 
disguised as a savage or sylvan man, or in some other fantastic 
dress, according to the taste of his master, and the character 
which he was pleased to assume during the game. From the 
entrance into the lists, a gently sloping passage led up to 
the platform on which the tents were pitched, and the whole 
was guarded by men-at-arms." 

The whole enclosed space was called the Lists. To 
regulate the proceedings, and to preserve order, trumpeters, 
heralds, and armed men were disposed in suitable places 
within the lists. To enter the lists, is a figurative expression 
still used to signify entering into competition with others in 
a difficult undertaking. 

The champions were the challengers — those who defied 
others to contend with them for the mastery in certain ex- 
ercises. At one extremity of the lists, opposite to that 



106 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

occupied by the champions, was a space reserved for such 
" Knights as might be disposed to enter the lists with the 
challengers, behind which were placed tents containing re- 
freshments of every kind for their accommodation, with 
armorers, f;xrriers, and other attendants, in readiness to give 
their services wherever they might be necessary. 

" The exteiior of the Ksts was in part occupied by tem- 
porary galleries spread with tapestry and carpets, and ac- 
commodated with cushions for the convenience of those 
ladies and nobles who attended the tournament. A narrow 
space, betwixt these galleries and the list, gave accommoda- 
tion for yeomanry and spectators of a better degree than 
the mere vulgar, and might be compared to the pit of a 
theatre. The promiscuous multitude arranged themselves 
upon large banks of turf prepared for the purpose, which, 
aided by the natural elevation of the ground, enabled them 
to look over the galleries and obtain a fair view into the 
lists. Besides the accommodation which these situations 
afforded, many hundreds perched themselves on the branches 
of surrounding trees, and even the steeple of the neighbor- 
ing church was crowded with spectators," " Neither duty 
nor infirmity could keep youth or age from such exhibi- 
tions." 

A gallerj-, more distinguished and adorned than the 
others, was on these occasions, fitted up for the presiding 
prince and his retinue ; and opposite to it was another gal- 
lery for the accommodation of the most noble and beautiful 
ladies. From among these the conquering Knight was 
expected to choose the fairest, whose office it was to crown 
the hero of the day with her own hand — and this lady, 
after she had been thus distinguished, was considered as 
the Queen of Love and Beauty. These were 

" Such sights as poets dream 
On siunmer eve by haunted stream." 

It was assemblies collected upon such brilliant occasions, 
concerning which Milton wrote, that, 

throngs of knights and barons bold 



In weeds of peace high triumphs hold 
And store of ladies with bright eyes 
Rain influence, and judge the prize 



TOURNAMENTS. 107 

Of wit or arms, ^vhile both contend 
To win lier grace whom all commend." 

Tournaments have been compared to the Olympic games 
of ancient Greece, but the circumstance of admitting the 
ladies, and that of clothing the combatants with art and 
elegance, made the tournament a far more beautiful spec- 
tacle than the contests of Greece. 

The design of the combatants at the tournaments was 
for one of the antagonists to disable the other, either by 
throwing him from his horse, or breaking his lance. The 
skill which was displayed in managing the horse, and 
in maintaining a long contest with grace and activity, 
made these exhibitions very interesting ; and, as it always 
happened, that for some reason or other, one of the antago- 
nists would, at the commencement of the trial, be preferred 
to the other, the hopes and fears of his admirers formed 
great part of the pleasure derived from the exhibition. 

The challengers proposed to others who would come, 
the defiance — which means, that they declared their per- 
sonal dignity and skill in arms superior to any adversary's, 
unless it should be found upon trial that those who dared 
to encounter were able to vanquish them. 

The numbei of challengers mentioned in Ivanhoe was 
five. The challengers were not to refuse to encounter any 
that should propose themselves. Any Knight who should 
come might select his antagonist by touching his shield 
with his lance. If the touch was made with the blunt 
end of the lance, that intimated that the combat was to be 
conducted without a designed attack upon the life of either 
combatant ; but if the shield was touched with the sharp 
end, it intimated that the Knights were to fight as in actual 
battle. 

" When the Knights present had accomplished their vow, 
by each of them breaking five lances, the Prince who 
should preside at the tournament was to declare the victor 
in the first day's tourney, who should receive, as prize, a 
war horse of exquisite beauty and matchless strength ; and 
in addition to this reward of valor, it was announced he 
should have the peculiar honor of naming the Queen of 
Love and Beauty, by whom the prize should be given on 
the ensuing day. 

" It was also announced that on the second day, there 



108 POETRY ran schools. 

should be a general tournament, in which all the Knights 
present, who were desirous to win praise, might take part ; 
and being divided into two bands of equal numbers, might 
fight it out manfully, until tlie sign;il was given by the 
Prince to cease the combat. Tlie elected Queen of Love 
and Beauty was then to crown the Knight whom the Pi-ince 
should adjudge to have borne himself best in this second 
day with a coronet composed of thin gold plate, cut into 
tlie shape of a laurel crown. On this second day the 
knightly games ceased. But on that which followed, feats 
of archery, of bull-baiting and other popular amusements 
were to be practised for the more immediate amusement of 
the populace. 

" The lists presented a most splendid spectacle. The 
sloping galleries Avere crowded with all that was noble, 
great, wealthy, and beautiful in the country : and the con- 
trast of the various dresses of these dignified spectators, 
rendered the view as gay as it was rich, while the interior 
and lower space, filled with the substantial burgesses and 
yeomen of merry England, formed, in their more plain attire, 
a dark fringe, or border, around this circle of brilliant era- 
broidery, relieving, and, at the same time, setting off its 
splendor. 

" Before the commencement of the tournament the laws 
which regulated it were proclaimed by a herald, and order 
was preserved by men-at-anns, or marshals, who carried 
battle axes in their hands, and sometimes struck the disor- 
derly with the pommel of their swords. 

" The heralds ceased their proclamation wnth their usual 
cry of ' Largesse, largesse, gallant Knights ;' and gold and 
silver pieces were showered on them from the galleries, it 
being a high point of chivalry to exhibit liberality towards 
those who were accounted the brightest ornaments of their 
age. The bounty of tlie spectators was acknowledged by 
the customary shouts of ' Love of Ladies — Death of Cham- 
pions — Honor to the Generous — Glory to the Brave !' To 
which the more humble spectators added their acclama- 
tions, and a numerous band of trumpeters the floui-ish of 
their mailial instruments. 

"When these sounds had ceased, the heralds withdrew 
from the lists in gay and glittering procession, and none 
remained within them save tlie marshals of the field, who, 
armed cap-a-pee, sat on horsebwck, motionless as statues, at 



TOURNAMENTS. 109 

the opposite ends of the hsts. Meantime, the enclosed 
space at the nortliern exti-emity of the hsts, large as it was, 
was completely crowded with Knights desirous to prove 
their skill against '.he challengers, and, Avhen viewed from 
the galleries, presented the appearance of a sea of waving 
plumage, intermixed with glistening helmets, and tall 
lances, to the extremities of which were, in many cases, 
attached small pennons of about a span's-breadth, which, 
fluttering in the air as the breeze caught them, joined with 
the restless motion of the feathers to add liveliness to the 
scene. 

" At length the barriers were opened, and five Knights, 
chosen by lot, advanced slowly into the area ; a single 
champion riding in front, and the other four following in 
pairs." 

The foregoing description is borrowed from Ivanhoe : it 
leaves the tournament at its commencement, but it tells 
what a tournament was. All that was proclaimed was 
done — the strife followed — some were defeated and some 
were victorious — some retired from the field covered with 
blood and wounds, mortified and disgraced ; others went 
off in due time, followed by looks of admiration and accla- 
mations of praise. The crown of that day was the renown 
of all their days, and the name of the Knight was not after- 
wards mentioned without that of the field of his glory. But 

" The Knights are dust. 
And their good swords are rust." 

and all that they did, lives only in the page of the poet. 
" Their escutcheons have long mouldered from the walls of 
their castles. Their castles themselves are but green 
mounds and shattered ruins — the place that once knew 
them knows them no more — nay, many a race since theirs 
has died out and been forgotten in the very land which 
they occupied, with all the authority of feudal proprietors 
and feudal lords. What then would it avail the reader to 
know their names, or the evanescent symbols of their mar- 
tial rank !" 

Theirs was not true glory. There is another glory, the 
most durable and the most estimable — it is that which fol- 
lows great services rendered to mankind by great goodness 
and great genius. That navigator who gave one-half of the 

10 



110 POETRV FOK SCHOOLS. 

world to the other half — that poet whom Milton calls, 
" Dear son of memory, great heir of fame"' — those defend- 
ers of religion who feared not principalities and powers, but 
counted their lives cheap, so that tliey showed the truth 
and established it ; and that peaceful legislator who gave 
his name to the wild woods, and laid the foundation of a 
state, according to the rules of the Gospel, have all bene- 
fited mankind, and inherit true fame. One, by his immortal 
pen, has sweetened and gladdened life, and the others, by 
their divers labors, have relieved men from burthens 
grievous to be borne. They have taken off fetters from the 
liuman understanding — have given a wider sphere to human 
intelligence, and a better direction to human conduct. 

Escutcheon.— Kn escutcheon is a kind of picture intended 
to celebrate the deeds of some person who fii'st used it. 
This is sometimes called a coat-of-arms because it was often 
engraved upon the shield of him who carried it. The de- 
scendants of the first bearer of an escutcheon, sometimes 
cause it to be engraved upon seals, or plate, and sometimes 
have it painted on their carriages. 

As was very natural, the ancient warriors held their 
horses in high esteem: they even fancied that this most 
beautiful of animals entered into their feelings, and partook 
of their glory or their grief. The rider would 

" bestride 



The noble steed as if he felt himself 

In his own proper seat. Look how he leans 

To cherish him ; and how the gallant horse 

Curves up his stately neck, and bends his head, 

As if again to court that gentle touch. 

And answer to the voice that praises him." 

And afterwards, upon the spot where his lord might have 
been slain or conquered, this faithful animal would some- 
times be found, 

" his silver mane 



Sprinkled with blood, which hung on every hair 
Aspersed like dew drops — trembling there he stood 
From the toil of battle, and at times sent forth 



D R YD EN. m 

His tremulous voice, far echoing wide and shrill, 
A frequent anxious cry, with which he seemed 
To call the master whom he loved so well. 
And who h;id thus again forsaken him." 

These verses of Mr. Southey's describe Orelio, the war- 
horse of Roderick, the last Gothic king of Spain. 

Attachment and admiiation for the horse appear to be 
almost universal. The Hebrew poet, whoever he was, that 
composed the book of Job, has given a sublime desciption 
of tlie war-horse : 

" Hast thou given the horse strength ? hast thou clothed 
his neck with thunder ? Canst thou make him afraid as a 
grass-hopper ? The glory of his nostrils is terrible. He 
paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength : he 
goeth on to meet the armed men. He mocketh at fear, and 
is not affrighted ; neither turneth he back from the sword. 
The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear and the 
shield. He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and 
rage : neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trum- 
pet. He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha, and he smell- 
€th the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the 
shouting." 

PALAMON AND ARCITE, 

Palamon and Arcite is one of the poems of Chaucer; it 
is contained in his Canterbury Tales. The following is an 
imitation by Dryden of Chaucer's original. 

Tn Athens all was pleasure, mirth and play, 
All proper to the spring, and sprightly May. 

Now scai'ce the dawning day began to spring, 
As at a siofiiiil iriven, the streets with clamors rinaf. 
At once the crowd arose ; confused and high 
Even from the heaven was heard a shouting cry. 
The neighing of the generous horse was heard. 
For battle by the busy groom prepared ; 
Rustling of harness ; rattling of the shield ; 
Clattering of armor, furbished for the field. 
Crowds, to tlie castle, mounted up the street. 
Battering the pavement with their coursers' feet : 



112 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

The greedy sight might, there, devour the gold 
Of ghttering arms, too dazzling to behold : 
And polished steel that cast the view aside. 
And crested morions, with their plumy pride. 
Knights, with a long retinue of their squires, 
In gaudy liveries march, and quaint attires. 

One laced the helm, another held the lance : 
A third the shining buckler did advance. 
The courser pawed the ground with restless feet 
And, snorting foamed, and champed the golden bit. 
The smiths and armorers on palfreys ride. 
Files in their hands, and hammers at their side, 
And nails for loosened spears, and throngs for shields 

provide. 
The yeoman guard the streets in seemly bands ; 
And clowns come crowding on with cudgels in their 

hands. 
The trumpets, next the gate, in order, placed. 
Attend the sign to sound the martial blast ; 
The palace-yard is filled with floating tides. 

The throng is in the midst : the common crew 
Shut out, the hall admits the better few : 
In knots they stand, of in a mnk they walk. 
Serious in aspect, earnest in their talk : 
Factious, and fav'ring this, or t' other side. 
As their strong fancy, or weak reason guide : 
Their wagers back their wishes ; numbers hold 
With the fair-freckled king, and beard of gold ; 
So vig'rous are his eyes, such rays they cast. 
So prominent his eagle's beak is placed. 
But most their looks on the black monarch bend. 
His rising muscles, and his strength commend : 
His double-biting axe and heamy spear. 
Each asking a gigantic force to rear. 
All, spoke as partial favor moved his mind : 
And, safe themselves, at others' cost divined. 

Waked by the cries, th' A.thenian chief arose, 
The knightly forms of combat to dispose ; 
And passing through the obsequious guards, he sate 
Conspicuous on a thi'one, subhme in state : 
There, for the two contending knights he sent : 
Armed cap-a-pee, with rev'rence low they bent ; 



DRYDfiX. ii-3 

He smiled on toth, and with superior look 
Alike their offered adoration took. 
Tlie people press on ever}' side, to see 
Their awful prince, and hear his high decree. 
Then signing to the heralds with liis hand. 
They gave his orders from their lofty stand. 
Silence is thrice enjoined : then thus, aloud, 
The king-at-arms bespeaks the knights, and listening 
crowd : 

■" Our sovereign lord has pondered in his mind 
The means to spare the blood of gentle kind ; 
The keener edge of battle to rebate, 
The troops for honor fighting, not for hate. 
He wills, not death should terminate the strife; 
And wounds, should wounds ensue, be short of lif« : 
But issues, ere the fight, his dread command, 
That slings afar, and poniards hand to hand, 
Be banished from the field ; that none shall dare 
With shortened swords to stab in closer war; 
But in fair combat fight with manly strength, 
Nor push with biting point, but strike at length. 
The tourney is allowed but one career, 
Of the tough ash, with the sharp-grinded spear ; 
But knights unhorsed may rise from off the plain, 
And fight on foot, their honor to regain ; 
Nor, if at mischief taken, on the ground 
Be slain, but pris'ners to the pillar bound, 
At either barrier placed ; nor (captives made) 
Be freed, or armed anew, the fight invade. 
The chief of either side, bereft of life. 
Or yielded to his foe, concludes the strife. 
Thus dooms the lord ! — Now valiant knights, and young, 
Fiijht each his fill, with swords and maces lons^." 

The herald ends : the vaulted firmament 
With loud acclaims and vast applause is rent : 
" Heaven guard a prince so gracious and so good, 
So just, and yet so provident of blood ! " 
This was the general cry. The trumpets sound ; 
And warlike symphony is heard around. 
The marching troops through Athens take their way. 
The great earl-marshal orders their array. 
The fair, from high, the passing pomp behold ; 
A rain of flow'rs is from the windows rolled, 
10* 



114 POETRY FOR SOHOOLSa 

Tlie casements are with golden tissue spread, 

And horses' hoofs, for earth, on silken tap'stry tread ; 

The king goes midmost, and the rivals ride 

In equal rank, and close his either side. 

Next after these, there rode the roj'al wife. 
With Emily, the cause and the rewoA'd of strife 
The following cavalcade, by three and three, 
Proceed by titles marshaled in degree. 
Thus through the southern gate they take their way. 
And at the list arrived ere prime of day. 
There, parting from the king, the chiefs divide. 
And, wheeling East and West, before their many ride. 
The Athenian monarch mounts his throne on liigli, 
And, after him, tlie queen, and Emily : 
Next these, the kindred of the crown are graced 
With nearer seats, and lords by ladies placed. 

Scarce were they seated, when with clamors loud 
In rushed at once a rude promiscuous crowd. 
Now changed the jarring noise to whispers low. 
As winds forsaking seas more softly blow : 
When, at the western gate, on wliich tlie car 
Is placed aloft, that bears the God of War, 
Proud Arcite entering ai-med, before his train. 
Stops at the barrier, and divides the plain. 
Red was his banner, and displayed abroad 
The bloody colors of his patron god.* 

At the self moment enters Palamon 
The gate of Venus and the rising sun ; 
Waved by the wanton winds, his banner flies. 
All maiden white, and shares the people's eyes. 
From East to West, look all the world around, 
Two troops so matched were never to be found. 

Thus ranged, the herald for the last proclaims 
A silence, while they answer to their names ; 
The tale was just, and then the gates were closed ; 
And chief to chief, and troop to troop opposed. 
The heralds last retired, and loudly cried. 

At this, the challenger, with fierce defy, 
His trumpet sounds, the challenged makes reply : 
Witli clangor rings the field, resounds the vaulted sky. 
Tiieir visors closed, their lances in the rest, 
Or at the helmet pointed, or the crest ; 

• Mars. 



I 



DRTDEN. 115 

They vanish from the barrier, speed the race, 
And, spurring, see decrease the middle space. 
Full oft the rivals met ; and neither spared 
His utmost force ; and each forgot to ward. 
Both were by turns unhorsed ; the jealous blows 
Fall thick and heavy, when on foot they close. 
So deep their falchions bite, that every stroke 
Pierced to the quick ; and equal wounds they gave and 
took. 

So when a tiger sucks the bullock's blood, 
Tlie swains come armed between, and both to distance 
drive. 

At length, as fate foredoomed, and all things tend 
By course of time to their appointed end ; 
The strong Emetrius came in Arcite's aid, 
And Palamon with odds was overlaid. 
Unyielding as he was, and to the pillar bound. 

The royal judge, on his tribunal placed. 
Who had beheld the fight from first to last. 
Bade, " Cease the war ; " pronouncing, from on high, 
" Arcite of Thebes has won the beauteous Emily." 
The sound of trumpets to the voice replied. 
And round the royal lists the heralds cried, 
"Arcite of Thebes has won the beauteous bride." 

The people rend the skies with vast applause ; 
All own the chief, when fortune owns the cause. 

The preceding ^e^•ses nearly agree with the description 
of a tournament, taken from Ivanhoe. Dryden's scene of 
the tournament is Athens. A few of the expressions used 
in this description may not be readily understood. 

Crested morions, with their 'plumy pride. — The morion 
was the cap woi-n by the Knights, adorned with a plume, 
and expressing in its appearance something of the dignity 
of the weaier. 

The squires in gaudy liveries march. — Livery is a dress 
appropriated to a particular order of persons. In modern 
times, the dress of men-servants, appertaining to a gentle- 
man's family, is called livery. 

Palfreys, travelling horses of mettle and appearance 
inferior to the war horse. 

Yeomen, soldiers employed as guards and attendants. 
The rank of the subordinate persons engaged in the private 



116 POETRT FOR SCHOOLS. 

warfare of the middle ages is very clearly displayed in the 
first Canto of Scott's Lay : 

*' Nine and twenty Knights of fame 

Hung their shields in Branksome hall , 
Nine and twenty squires of name 

Brought them their steeds from bower to stall ; 
Nine and twenty Yeomen tall 
Waited duteous on tJieni all." 



Numbers hold 



With the fair freckled King, ttc. 

But most their looks on the black monarch bend. 

These lines express the party feeling with which the 
heroes of the tournaments were regarded. It has been re- 
marked, that at the commencement of the exercises, the 
spectators usually gave the preference to one or other of the 
combatants. 

His double-biting axe and beamy spear, 
Each asking a gigantic force to rear. 

The beamy spear. — The weight of these arms required a 
gigantic force to lift them. It appears that the active and 
self-denying habits of the Knights gave them extraordinary 
strength, as was the fact in respect to the Athletee of anti- 
quity. 

Armed cap-a-pee — from head to foot. 

King-at-Arms. — An officer employed in ancient pageants 
to announce the pleasure of the presiding prince in respect 
to the order of the ceremonies. The king-at-arms here de- 
clares it is the sovereign's will that dangerous weapons be 
banished from the field, and that the strife shall spare the 
lives of those engaged in it. The combatants seldom had 
sufficient forbearance to observe this prohibition ; and, at 
length, in consequence of the numbers killed in them, the 
Popes suppressed tournaments altogether. 

The tourney, the trial of horsemanship. The dismount- 
ed Knight was not "allowed to repeat the tourney, but might 
fight on foot, his honor to regain. 

■ The loestern gate, on which tJie car 



Is placed aloft, that bears the god of war. 
The gates which Dryden here describes are adorned with 



BOADICEA. 117 

sculpture. Over the western gate is the car of Mars, bear- 
ing its terrible master ; the eastern i^ate — that of the rising 
sun, was embellished by the beautiful figure of Venus. 

BOADICEA 

Boadicea was queen of the Iceni, a tribe of native Brit- 
ons. When the Romans invaded Britain, they did not at 
once achieve the conquest of the Island. A.D. 60, Boadi- 
cea, among otiier of the native princes, resisted the Roman 
arms ; but fighting at the head of her subjects, she fell into 
the hands of the enemy. The Romans beat her and treated 
her with the most cruel indignities, so that at last, in her 
despair, she put an end to her existence. Cowper's verses 
which follow, describe her, some time before her defeat, in 
her holy purpose of preserving her people from their invad- 
ers, resorting for direction to the Druid, one of the priests 
of her religion ; and though the venerable man could not 
promise her the deliverance she sought, for her consolation, 
he predicted the downfall of the Roman, and the exaltation 
of the British power. 

" When the British warrior queen. 
Bleeding from the Roman rods, 
Sought with an indignant mien. 
Counsel of her country's gods. 

Sage beneath the spreading oak 

Sat the Druid, hoary chief ; 
Ev'ry burning word he spoke 

Full of rage, and full of grief. 

Princess ! if our aged eyes 

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 

'Tis because resentment ties 
All the terrors of our tongues. 

Rome shall perish — write that word 

In the blood that she has spilt ; 
Perish hopeless and abhorred. 

Deep in ruin as in guilt. 

Rome, for empire far renowned, 

Tramples on a thousand states ; 
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground — 

Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates ! 



118 POKTRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Other Romans shall arise, 
Heedless of a soldier's name ; 

Souiids, not arms, shall win the prize. 
Harmony the path to fame. 

Then the progeny that springs 
From the forests of our land. 

Armed with thunder, clad with wings. 
Shall a wider world command. 

Regions Ceesar never knew 
Thy posterity shall sway ; 

Where his eagles never flew, 
None invincible as they. 

Such the bard's prophetic words. 
Pregnant with celestial fire, 

Bending as he swept the chords 
Of his sweet but awful lyre. 

She with all a monarch's pride, 
Felt them in her bosom glow ; 

Rushed to battle, fought, and died ; 
Dying hurled them at the foe. 

Ruffians, pitiless as proud, 

Heaven awards the vengeance due ; 

Empire is on us bestowed, 
Shame and ruin wait for you. 



Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize — 
Harmony the path to fame. 

Modern Italy exhibits none of the martial spirit, or poli- 
tical wisdom of ancient Rome ; but in place of the elevated 
sentiments and great actions recorded of the former inhabit- 
ants, its children of our days are distinguished, as much as 
for anything, by their excellence in music. Ti)is species of 
excellence, being attended with absolute deficiency in the 
spirit of liberty, of improvement, and the sentiment of 
national dignity, is considered by the poet as a mark of 
uegeiieracy. 



THE DRUIDS, 119 

Regions Ccesar never Tcnew. 
Thy posterity shall sivay. 

This passage int'mates the estabhsliment of the British 
empire in America. — The empire of the laws, language, and 
literature of Britain, established in the new world, and under 
an independent government among the remote descendants 
of the ancient Britons. 

THE DRUIDS. 

The Druids were priests among the Britons, and were 
exterminated by the Romans. " The religion of the Brit- 
ons was one of the most considerable parts of the govern- 
ment ; and the Druids, who were guardians of it, possessed 
great authority among them. No species of superstition 
was ever more terrible than theirs ; besides the severe pen- 
alties which they were permitted to inflict in this world, 
they inculcated the doctrine of ti'ansmigration of souls, and 
thus extended their authority as far as the fears of their 
votaries. They sacrificed human victims, which they burned 
in large wicker idols, made so capacious as to contain a 
multitude of persons at once, who were thus consumed to- 
gether. To these rites, tending to impress ignorance with 
awe, they added the austerity of their manners, and tlie 
simplicity of their lives. They lived in woods, caves, and 
hollow trees ; acorns and berries constituted their general 
food, and their usual beverage was water. By these arts 
they were not only respected, but almost adored by the 
people." 

The sacrifice of human victims implies a horrible religious 
faith, but it does not appear to be wholly inconsistent with 
fine qualities of mind and heart. The sacrifice of Jeph- 
thah's daughter, mentioned in the Hebrew scriptures, and 
that of Iphigenia by the Greeks, were induced by false 
notions of God. To give him the dearest of our posses- 
sions, may seem to ignorant men the most acceptable service, 
and those who were capable of such acts, often entertained 
sentiments of true devotion and humanity. The Druids 
worshipped in the open air ; and there still remain in Eng- 
land, circles of stones laid upon the surface of the ground, 
which it is supposed, enclosed their sanctuaries. The oak 
was their favorite tree, and the mistletoe, a parasitic plant, 



120 POETRY F O ri SCHOOLS. 

or one which grows upon trees, was used in their rites, and 
respected as a symbol of their faith. Some of the EngUsh 
poets regard the character of the Druids as that of simple- 
hearted and uncorrupted men, fond of contemplating the 
works of God. 

" In yonder grave a Druid lies," 

says the poet ColHns, of Thomson, the author of the Sea- 
sons — meaning by this expression to suggest the idea of 
Thomson's well-known character — that of a man who saw 
in God the " parent of good," and who considered the 
" universal frame " of creation as the dwelling-place of in- 
finite loveliness and beneficence. 

Mr. Mason, a clergyman of the church of England, and 
an intimate friend of the poet Gray, wrote a drama called 
Caractacus. Caractacus was the last of the British princes 
who resisted the Romans, but in the reign of the Emperor 
Claudius, he was made their prisoner, and carried to Rome. 
About the same time the Romans, though they generally 
permitted all their conquered subjects to enjoy their accus- 
tomed religion, abolished the worship of the Druids. The 
practice of the Druids of offering human sacrifices made it 
just that their rites should be annihilated. 

In Caractacus Mr. Mason describes that unfortunate 
kina: as taking; refusfe in the sacred srroves of the Druids, 
and being forced thence by the Roman soldiers. Mona, 
an island in the Irish sea, was the principal sanctuary of 
the Druids. 

Vellinus and Elidurus were sons of a British Princess, 
Cartismandua, who had been subdued by the Romans. 
She had delivered them to the Romans as hostages — that 
is, as security, that she would fulfil her promises of con- 
tinued submission to the conquerois. The Roman officer 
to whom the British youths are intrusted, promises them 
their liberty on condition that tliey will discover to him the 
retreat of the Di'uids ; corrupted by this tempting offer, they 
introduced tlie stranger into their secret haunts, in which 
Caractacus and his dausfhter Evelina had taken refuofe. 



MASON. 121 

OPENING SCENE OF CARACTACU8. 

AuLus DiDius. a Roman officer with Romans. 

Scene, Mona. 

Au. Did. This is the secret centre of the isle : 
Here, Romans, pause, and let the eye of wonder 
Gaze on the solemn scene ; behold yon oak, 
How stern he frowns, and with his broad brown arms 
Chills the pale plain beneath him : mark yon altar, 
The dark stream brawling round its rugged base. 
These cliffs, these yawning caverns, this wide circus, 
Skirted with unhewn stone ; they awe my soul, 
As if the very genius of the place 
Himself appeared, and, with terrific tread. 
Stalked tlnough his drear domain. And yet, my friends, 
(If shapes like his be but the fancy's coinage) 
Surely there is a hidden power, that reigns 
'Mid the lone majesty of untamed nature, 
Controling sober reason ; tell me else. 
Why do these haunts of barb'rous superstition 
O'ercome me thus ? I scorn them, yet they awe me. 

Enter Vellinus and Eliduuus. 

Ye pledges dear of Cartismandua's faith. 

Approach ! and to mine uninstructed ear ^ 

Explain this scene of horror. 

Elid. Daring Roman, 

Know that thou stand'st on consecrated ground : 
These mighty piles of magic-planted rock. 
Thus ranged in mystic order, mark the place 
Where but at times of holiest festival 
The Druid leads his train. 

Aid. Did. Where dwells the seer ? 

Vel. In yonder shaggy cave ; on which the moon 
Now sheds a side-long gleam. His brotherhood 
Possess the neighb'ring cliffs. 

Aul. Did. Yet up the hill 

Mine eye descries a distant range of caves, 
Delved in the ridges of the craggy steep ; 
And this way still another. 

Elid. On the left 

Reside the sages skilled in nature's lore : 
11 



122 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

The changeful universe, its numbers, powers, 
Studious they measure, save when meditation 
Gives place to holy rites : then in the grove 
Each hath his rank and function. Yonder grots 
Are tenanted by Bards, who nightly thence, 
Robed in their flowing vests of innocent white, 
Descend, with harps that glitter to the moon. 
Hymning immortal strains. The Spirits of air. 
Of earth, of water, nay, of heav'n itself. 
Do listen to their lay ; and oft, 'tis said. 
In visible shapes dance they a magic round 
To the high minstrelsy. Now, if thine eye 
Be sated with the view, haste to thy ships. 
And ply thine oars: for, if the Druids learn 
This bold intrusion, thou wilt find it hard 
To foil their fury. 

Aul. Did. Prince, I did not moor 

My light-armed shallops on this dangerous strand 
To soothe a fruitless curiosity ; 
I come in quest of proud Caractacus ; 
Who, when our veterans put his troops to flight, 
Found refuge here. 

JSlid. If here the monarch rests. 

Presumptuous chief ! thou might'st as well essay 
To pluck him from yon stars ; Earth's ample range 
Contains no surer refuge : underneath 
The soil we tread, a hundred secret paths, 
Scooped througli the living rock in winding maze, 
Lead to as many caverns, dark, and deep : 
In which the hoarj^ sages act their rites 
Mysterious, rites of such strange potency. 
As, done in open day, would dim the sun. 
Though throned in noontide brightness. In such dens 
He may for life lie hid. 

CAPTURE OF CARACTACUS. 

A0LUS DiDius bursts into the sanctvary of Drvids, with Velunus, 
EnDURUS, and soldiers. 

Druid, Evelina., Bard, and Caractacus. 

Aul. Did. Ye bloody priests, 

Behold we burst on your infernal rites, 
And bid you pause. Instant restore our soldiers, 



MASON. 123 

Nor hope that superstition's ruthless step 
Shall wade in Roman gore. Ye savage men, 
Did not our laws give license to all faiths, 
We would o'erturn your altars, headlong heave 
These shapeless symbols of your barbai'ous gods. 
And let the golden sun into your caves. 

Druid. Servant of Caesar, has thine impious tongue 
Spent the black venom of its blasphemy ? 
It has. Then take our curses on thine head, 
Ev'n his fell curses who doth reign in Mona, 
Vicegerent of those gods thy -pride insults. 

Aul. Did. Bold priest, I scorn thy curses, and thyself. 
Soldiers, go search the caves, and free the prisoners. 
Take heed," ye seize Caractacus alive. 

Look to the beauteous maid. 
That tranced in grief, bends o'er yon bleeding corse — 
Respect her sorrows. 

Evel. Hence, ye barbarous men. 

Ye shall not take him weltering thus in blood. 
To show at Rome what British virtue was. 
Avaunt ! the breathless body that ye touch 
Was once Arviragus ! 

Aul. Did. Fear us not, princess, 

We reverence the dead. 

Druid. Would too to Heaven, 

Ye reverenced the gods but even enough 
Not to debase with slavery's cruel chain 
Whom they created free. 

Aul. Did. The Romans fight 

Not to enslave, but humanize the world. 

Druid, (to to, we will not parley with thee, Roman: 
Instant pronounce our doom. 

Aul. Did. Hear it, and thank us. 

This once our clemency shall spare your groves, 
If at our call ye yield the British king : 
Yet learn, when next ye aid the foes of Caesar, 
Tliat each old oak, whose solemn gloom ye boast, 
Shall bow beneath our axes. 

Druid. Be they blasted, 

Wherever their shade forgets to shelter virtue ! 

Bard. Mourn, ]\Iona, mourn. Caractacus is captive ! 
And dost thou smile, false Roman ? Do not think 
He fell an/Casy prey. Know, ere he yielded. 



124 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Thy bravest veterans bled. He too, thy spy. 

The base Brigantine prince, hath sealed his fraud 

With death. Bursting thro' armed ranks that hemmed 

The caitiff round, the brave Caractacus 

Seized his false throat ; and as he gave him death. 

Indignant thundered, " Thus is my last stroke 

The stroke of justice." Numbers then opprest him. 

I saw the slave, that cowardly behind 

Pinioned his arms ; I saw the sacred sword 

Writhed from his grasp — I saw, what now ye see. 

Inglorious sight ! those barbarous bonds upon him. 

Car. Romans, methinks the malice of your tyrant 
Might fvirnish heavier chains. Old as I am. 
And withered as you see these war-worn limbs, 
Trust me, they shall support the weightiest load 

Injustice dares impose 

Pi'oud-crested soldier, [^To Didius. 

Who seem'st the master-mover in this business, 
Say, dost thou read less terror on my brow, 
Than when thou met'st me in the fields of war 
Heading my nations ? No, my free-born soul 
Has scorn still left to sparkle through these eyes. 

And frown defiance on thee Is it thus? 

l^Seeinff his son's body. 
Then I'm indeed a captive. Mighty gods ! 
My soul, my soul submits : patient it bears 
The ponderous load of grief ye heap upon it. 
Yes, it will grovel in this shattered breast. 
And be the sad tame thing it ought to be. 
Cooped in a servile body. 

AuL Did. Droop not, king. 

When Claudius, the great master of the world, 
Shall hear the noble story of thy valor, 
His pity 

Car. Can a Roman pity, soldier ? 
And if he can, gods ! must a Briton bear it ? 
Arviragus, my bold, my breathless boy. 
Thou hast escaped such pity ; thou art free. 
Here in liigh Mona shall thy noble limbs 
Rest in a noble grave ; posterity 
Shall to thy tomb with annual reverence bring 
Sepulchral stones, and pile them to the clouds ; 
Whilst mine 



W A R T O N . 1 25 

Aul. Did. The morn doth hasten our departure. 
Prepare thee, king, to go : a fav'ring gale 
Now swells our sails. 

Car. Inhuman that thou art ! 

Dost thou deny a moment for a father 
To shed a few warm tears o'er his dead son ? 
I tell thee, chief, this act might claim a life, 
To do it duly ; even a longer life, 
Than sorrow ever suffered. Cruel man ! 
And thou deni'st me moments. Be it so. 
I know you Romans weep not for your children ; 
Ye triumph o'er your tears, and think it valor ; 
I triumph in my tears. 



Arise, my daughter. 

Weep'st thou, my girl ? I prithee hoard thy tears 
For the sad meeting of thy captive mother : 
For we have much to tell her, much to say 
Of these good men who nurtured us in Mona ; 
Much of the fraud and malice that pursued us ; 
Much of her son, who poured his precious blood 
To save his sire and sister : think'st thou, maid, 
Her gentleness can hear the tale, and live ? 

And yet she must. 

But I'll be mute. Adieu ! ye holy men ; 

Yet one look more — Now, lead us hence for ever. 



WARTON. 

Born 1128— Died 1790. 

Dr. Thomas Warton is best known as a poetical anti- 
quary. He wrote a " History of English Poetry," and by 
his researches and criticisms turned the attention of Eng- 
lish readers in his time from the mere perusal of contem- 
porary poets to the neglected authors of the fifteenth, 
sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries. Dr. Warton is not 
memorable for inventive talent, but he was well acquaint- 
ed with the earlier British writers, he admired the ancient 
architecture of his countrv, and he loved the legends of 
"ll* 



126 POfiTRT FOR SCHOOLS. 

old romance. " His Crusade, and the Grave of Arthur,'* 
says Mr. Campbell, " have a genuine air of martial and 
minstrel enthusiasm. Those pieces exhibit, to the best 
advantage, the most striking feature of his poetical charac- 
ter, ■which was a fondness for the recollections of chivalry, 
and a minute intimacy of imagination with its gorgeous 
residences, and imposing spectacles. Dr. Warton may 
indeed be said to have revived the spirit of chivalry in the 
poetry of modern times." 

PRINCE ARTHUR. 

About the middle of the fifth century, the Romans, who 
had been masters of Britain during four hundred years, 
withdrew from that island, and left the government and 
defence of the country to its native inhabitants. The 
northern parts of the island belonged to the Scots and 
Picts, and these barbarous tribes, soon after the departure 
of the Romans, invaded and ravaged the more southern 
territory. 

The British were divided into small independent tribes, 
each governed by its own piince, and these petty sover- 
eigns, in their common danger, had not sufficient wisdom 
to unite in the common defence , though, in seasons of im- 
minent peril, they like the ancient Romans, appointed a 
Dictator invested with supreme power over the collective 
forces of the nation. The British Dictator was called the 
Pendragon. He, however, could not prevent discordant 
counsels and civil warfare among the inferior chiefs, so that 
the Saxons, who had come over from German)^ as helpers 
of the Britons, easily subjugated them. According to some 
historians, though in modern times there are others who 
deny the existence of such a hero, Arthur, the son of Uther, 
succeeded his father as Pendragon about the year 517. 
His history, as generally received, whether it be true or 
false, is the following. 

Arthur, prince of the Silures, in conjunction with other 
chiefs, his countrymen, resisted the Saxons ; but, though 
his prowess has been celebrated by poets and romance- 
writers he was not successful against the Saxons. Mor- 
dred, a powerful Pictish chief, went over to the enemy, 
and was victorious against Arthur in the battle of Camlan. 
Arthur, notwithstanding he was once defeated, renewed 



WARTON. 127 

the war, and many feats of valor are imputed to him. He 
is said to have been mortally wounded in an engagement 
with Mordred, and to have died, and been buried at Ava- 
lon. The place of his interment is unknown, and Dr. 
Warton has founded a pretty poem upon this disputed 
fact. It is proper here to state, tliat among the fictions 
related of Prince Arthur, is this, that he created a miH- 
tary order called the Kniglits of the Round 'J'able. Of 
his and their achievements many marvellous stories are 
related. 

Dr. Warton describes a festival of Henry H. king of 
England, as he was about embarking for Ireland. Irel.md, 
previous to the year 1172, had been divided into five inde- 
pendent kingdoms. Two kings of Ireland, Dermot and 
Roderick O'Connor, had a desperate war, and the former 
came over to England to solicit the interference of Henry 
II. in his behalf. Henry availed himself of this strife to 
include Ireland in his dominions. He first obtained the 
gift of that island in a writing from the Pope, called a hidl. 
In that age the Pope claimed the right to dispose of king- 
doms, and when Henry went over to Ireland with the 
authority of the Pope, and an army to enforce it, he soon 
made a conquest of the island. 

Henry's army was, as appears by the poem, attended 
by a company of bards, who entertained the king with 
their songs. Just before the embarkation for Ireland, one 
of the bards is represented as celebrating Prince Arihiir, 
and declaring that the hero had been carrier! away by the 
enchanter Merlin, and was destined to re-appear at a future 
time in Britain ; but another of tlie tuneful brethren asserts 
that no enchanter bore him off the field of battle, and de- 
mands of the king to repair to his tomb, and by some 
religious services in honor of him, pay homage to his 
departed glory. 

" It was," says Mr. Gray, " the common belief of the 
Welsh nation, that king Arthur was still alive in Fairyland, 
and would return and rei^n as^ain over Britain." 

THE GRAVE OF PRINCE ARTHUR. 

Stately the feast, and high the cheer : 
Girt with many an armed peer. 
And canopied with golden pall. 
Amid Gilgarran's castle hall, 



128 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Sublime in formidable state, 
And warlike splendor, Henry sate ; 
Prepared to stain the briny flood, 
Of Shannon's lakes with rebel blood. 

Illumining the vaulted roof, 
A thousand torches flamed aloof; 
From massy cups, with golden gleam 
Sparkled the red metheglin's stream ; 
To grace the gorgeous festival, 
Along the lofty windowed hall 
The storied tapestry was hung : 
With minstrelsy the rafters rung 
Of harps, that with reflected light 
From the proud gallery glittered bright ; 
While pfifted bards, a rival thronor, 
To crown the banquet's solemn close, 
Themes of British glory chose ; 
And to the strings of various chime 
Attempered thus the fabling rhyme. 

" O'er Cornwall's cliff's the tempest roared 
High the screaming sea-mew soared ; 
On Tintagel's topmost tower 
Darksome fell the sleety shower ; 
Round the rough castle shrilly sung 
The whirling blast, and wildly flung 
On each tall rampart's thundering side 
The surges of the tumbling tide ; 
When Arthur ranged his red-cross ranks 
On conscious Camlan's crimsoned banks : 
By Mordred's faithless guile decreed 
Beneath a Saxon spear to bleed. 

" Yet in vain a paynim* foe 
Armed with fate the mighty blow ; 
For when he fell, an elfinf queen. 
All in secret and unseen, 
O'er the fainting hero threw 
Her mantle of ambrosial blue ; 
And bade her spirits bear him far, 
In Merlin's agate-axled car. 
To her green isle's enamelled steep. 
Far in the bosom of the deep. 

• Pagan- f Fairy 



WARTON. 129 

O'er his wounds she sprinkled dew 
From flowers that in Arabia grew ; 
On a rich enchanted bed 
She pillowed his majestic head ; 
O'er his brow, with whispers bland, 
Thrice she waved an opiate wand ; 
And to soft music's airy sound, 
Her magic curtains closed around. 

" There, renewed the vital spring, 
Again he reigns a mighty king 
And many a fair and fragrant clime, 
Blooming in immortal prime, 
By gales of Eden ever fann'd. 
Owns the monarch's high command : 
Thence to Britain shall return, 
(If right prophetic rolls I learn) 
I3orne on victory's spreading plume. 
His ancient sceptre to resume ; 
Once more, in old heroic pride. 
His barbed courser to bestride ; 
His knightly table to restore. 
And brave the tournaments of yore." 

They ceased : when on the tuneful stage 
Advanced a bard of aspect sage ; 
His silver tresses, thin besprent, 
To ase a graceful reverence lent ; 
His beard all white as spangles frore 
That clothe Plinlimmon's forest hoar, 
Down to his harp descending flowed ; 
With Time's faint rose his features glowed ; 
His eyes diffused a softened fire. 
And thus he waked the warbling wire. 

" Listen, Henry, to my read !* 
Not from fairy realms I lead 
Bright-robed tradition, to relate 
In forged colors Arthur's fate ; 
Though much of old romantic loref 
On tiie high theme I keep in store : 
But boastful Fiction should be dumb, 
When truth the strain might best become. 
If thine ear may still be won 
With songs of tlther's glorious son. 
Tale. t Narrative. 



130 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Henry, I a tale unfold, 
Never yet in rhyme enrolled, 
Nor sung, nor harped, in hall or bower ; 
Which in my youth's full early flower, 
A minstrel sprung of Cornish line. 
Who spoke of kings from old Locrine, 
Taught me to chant, one vernal dawn, 
Deep in a cliff-encircled lawn. 

" When Arthur bowed his haughty crest. 
No princess, veiled in azure vest, 
Snatched him, by Merlin's potent spell, 
In groves of golden bliss to dwell ; 
Where, crowned with wreaths of mistletoe. 
Slaughtered kings in glory go : 
But when he fell, with winged speed 
His champions, on a milk-white steed. 
From the battle's hurricane. 
Bore him to Joseph's towered fane, 
In the fair vale of Avalon : 
There, with chanted orison,* 
And the long blaze of tapers clear. 
The stoled fathers met the bier ; 
Through the dim isles, in order dread 
Of martial wo, the chief they led. 
And deep entombed in holy ground, 
Before the altar's solemn bound. 

" Around no dusky banners wave. 
No mouldering trophies mark the grave : 
Away the ruthless Dane has torn 
Each trace that Time's slow touch had worn ; 
And long, o'er the neglected stone. 
Oblivion's veil its shade had thrown: 
The faded tomb, with honor due, 
'Tis thine, Henry, to renew ! 
Thither, when conquest has restored 
Yon recreant isle, and sheathed the sword. 
When peace with palm has crowned thy brows. 
Haste thee to pay thy pilgrim vows. 
There, observant of my lore, 
The pavement's hallowed depth explore ; 
And thrice a fathom underneath 
Dive into the vaults of death. 

* A prayer. 



WARTON. 131 

" There shall thine eye, with wild amaze, 
On his gigantic stature gaze : 
There shalt thou find the monarch laid, 
All in warrior- weeds arrayed ; 
Wearing in death his helmet-crown, 
And weapons huge of old renown. 
Martial prince, 'tis thine to save 
From dark oblivion Arthur's grave ! 
So maj'^ thy ships securely stem 
The western firth : thy diadem 
Shine victorious in the van, 
Nor heed the slings of Ulster's clan ; 
Thy Norman pikemen win their way 
Up the dun rocks of Harrald's bay ; 
And from the steeps of rough Kildare 
Thy prancing hoofs the falcon scare : 
So may thy bow's unerring yew 
Its shafts in Roderick's heart imbrue." 

Amid the pealing symphony 
The spiced goblets mantled high ; 
With passions new the song impressed 
The listening king's impatient breast ; 
Flash the keen lightnings from his eyes ; 
He scorns awhile his old emprise ; 
E'en now he seems, with eager pace 
The consecrated floor to trace, 
And ope, from its tremendous gloom. 
The treasure of the wondrous tomb: 
E'en now he burns in thought to rear. 
From its dark bed, the ponderous spear 
Rough with the gore of Pictish kings : 
E'en now fond hope his fancy wings, 
To poise the monarch's massy blade, 
Of magic-tempered metal made : 
And drag to day the dinted shield 
That felt the storm of Camlan's field. 
O'er the sepulchre profound 
E'en now, with arching sculpture crowned, 
He plans the chantry's choral shrine. 
The daily dirge and rites divine. 

The treasure of the wondrous tomb, Sc. — Henry longed 
to possess the spear, sword, and shield of Arthur, from a 



132 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

superstitious belief that these relics of a hero would aid 
him in his warlike enterprizes. This superstition was not 
peculiar to Henry ; it seems to be common among religious 
princes of the Catholic faith. A similar circumstance is 
recorded of King Don Alphonso, the last Spanish King of 
that name. He sent to the tomb of the Cid, a renowned 
hero of Spain, for the cross which that warrior was accus- 
tomed to wear when he went to battle, and had it made 
into one for himself, " because of the faith which he had, 
that through it (by means of some mysterious operation of 
it), he should obtain the victory." 

His barbed courser, d'c. — The horses used in European 
wars before the discovery of gunpowder, were sometimes 
defended by a harness of mail. Barbed courser signifies a 
horse thus caparisoned, or arrayed, and armed in the face. 



MRS. HE MANS. 

This lady died in 1835. She resided in England, but 
her poetry is exceedingly admired in this country. Piety, 
various knowledge, elegant taste, and great sweetness and 
power of expression, with fervent and tender afl'ections, are 
the characteristics of Mrs. Hemans's genius. 

WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR. 

William I., king of England, held extensive territories 
in France. Among them was the city of Mante, and the 
country adjacent to it. The barons of Mante revolted 
against William, and Philip, king of France, took part with 
them. William was ill in his bed at the time, and Pliilip 
not only encouraged tlie rebellious barons, but spoke con- 
temptuously of William. His jokes were repeated to the 
king of England, who, more enraged by Philip's witticisms 
than by his hostility, swore that to punish his insolence he 
would light up a thousand candles in France when he 
should celebrate his recovery from sickness. 

True to this rash oath, William chose the following sea- 
son of harvest in which to perform his vow. No consider- 



dEMANS. 133 

ations of justice and pity mitigated his rage ; he ravaged 
and burnt wherever he came. The cottage of the peasant ; 
the favorite tree that afforded him shelter and shade ; the 
wheat field, where stood, awaiting the sickle, the sustenance 
of his family, all fell a prey to the flames kindled by order 
of this merciless man ; while men, women, and children 
fled in terror and anguish before the destroyer. 

William's blind revenge thus fell upon the innocent : 
upon those who had given him no provocation. But the 
wanton destruction of Mante proved to be one of the 
crimes, upon whose perpetrators divine retribution inflicts 
punishment here. William took Mante, and for the grati- 
fication of his wrathful passion, rode from one part to 
another of the burning town, directing his men to feed and 
spread the conflagration, in wliich many of the inhabitants 
perished without chance of escape. 

While William was engaged in this disgraceful activity, 
his horse, stepping on some hot ashes, suddenly plunged, 
and sti'iking the pommel of the saddle against the rider's 
body, the blow caused an inflammation which ended in 
death. This seeming accident, in its consequences, aff"ords 
an impressive instance that inhumanity produces its own 
punishment. 

William ended his days in a monastery near Rouen. In 
the awful moment of dissolution, the illusions of ambition 
and revenge disappeared. He reviewed the cruelties of 
his past life with remorse, and endeavored as a true peni- 
tent to make all the amends in his power. He had thrown 
many British nobles and honorable persons into prison, 
through fear that they would oppose his tyrannical govern- 
ment of England. This injustice now appeared to him in 
its true character, and in view of his approaching death, 
he gave orders to restore their liberty to those injured 
persons. 

" At this hour," said he, " when I can only hope that 
my offences will find mercy from my Creator, I order all 
prisons in my dominions to be opened, and every captive 
to be released, on condition that they swear to be peace- 
able." 

About sunrise, the conqueror was for a moment roused 
by the sound of bells from a stupor into which he had 
fallen. He eagerly inquired what the noise meant, and 
12 



134 P O E I n Y V () R S H O O I, s . 

was answered they were telling the hour of prime.* He 
then lifted his hands to heaven, and uttering a brief prayer 
expired, September 9th, 1087. 

The events that followed his dissolution, not only give a 
striking picture of the unsettled state of society, but also of 
the character and affections of the men that waited on 
princes and conquerors. 

No sooner was William dead, than those who had at- 
tended him in his last days fled, the nobles to secure their 
property, and his poorer servants to lay hands on that of 
their master. The latter, imitating their superiors, seized, 
like vultures, his armor, clothes, and furniture, and disap- 
peared, leaving the dead body neglected by all. 

The Archbishop of Rouen ordained that the king should 
be interred at Caen, in the Church of St. Stephen, which 
he had built and endowed. But even now it seems there 
were none to do him honor ; for the historian, living at the 
time, says, that his sons, brothers, and relations, were all 
absent. A poor country knight, seeing the corpse deserted, 
undertook the charge of the funeral. 

The body was conveyed from Rouen to Caen, where it 
was received by the monks of St. Stephens ; other inhabit- 
ants of the city joined these and formed a procession ; but 
as they followed the coffin, a fire broke out in the town, 
and numbers ran to extinguish it, and those who remained 
carried the body of the king to the church. Some bishops 
and abbots assembled to assist in the services. 

At length, the rites finished, the body was about to be 
lowered into the grave prepared for it before the altar, 
when a man, suddenly rising from the crowd, exclaimed, 
with a loud voice, addressing him who had pronounced a 
discourse in honor of the dead, " Bishop, the man whom 
you have praised was a robber ; the ground on which you 
are standing is mine ; upon this spot stood my father's 
house. He took it from me by violence to build this 
church upon. I demand it as my right ; in the name of 
God T forbid you to bury him here, or to cover him with 
my glebe." 

The man who spoke thus boldly was Asseline Fitz-Ar- 
thur, who liad often asked a just compensation of the king 
in his lifetime. Mnny persons present confirmed this state- 
ment, and the bishops paid him part of the value of the 

* The hoiir of prime was that of moraing prayT:-, commencing at six o'clock. 



HEMANS. 135 

land, and promised to procure for him the whole amount. 
After this interruption, so disgraceful to the departed, the 
body was lowered into the tomb ; the rest of the ceremony 
was hurried over, and the assembly dispersed with disgust. 
Ordericus, the contemporary historian who describes 
William's death, thus reflects upon it. " 0, secular pomp ! 
how despicable art thou, because so vain and transient ! 
Thou art justly compared to bubbles made by rain ; for, 
like them, thou swellest for a moment to vanish into 
nothing. Behold this most potent hero, whom lately a 
hundred thousand men were eager to serve, and whom 
many nations dreaded, now lying unhonored, and unwept, 
spoiled and abandoned of every one I" The circum- 
stances of William's interment are finely told by Mrs. 
Hemans : 

Lowly upon his bier, 

The royal conqueror lay, 
Baron and chief stood near 

Silent in war-array. 

Down the long minster's aisle, 

Crowds mutely gazing streamed, 
Altar and tomb, the while. 

Through mists of incense gleamed : 

And by the torch's blaze 

The stately priest had said 
High words of power and praise. 

To the glory of the dead. 

They lowered him, with the sound 

Of requiems, to repose, 
When from the throngs around 

A solemn voice arose : 

' Forbear, forbear !' it cried, 

' In the holiest name forbear ! 
He hath conquered regions wide, 
But he shall not slumber there, 

' By the violated hearth 

Which made way for yon proud shrine. 
By the harvests which this earth 
Hath borne to me and mine ; 



136 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

' By the home ev'n here o'erthrown, 
On my children's native spot, — 
Hence ! with his dark renown 
Cumber our birth-place not ! 

' Will my sire's unransomed field 
O'er which your censers wave, 
To the buried spoiler yield 
Soft slumber in the grave ? 

' The tree before him fell 

Which we cherished many a year. 
But its deep root yet shall swell 
And heave against his bier. 

' The land that I have tilled, 
Hath yet its brooding breast, 
With my home's white ashes filled — 
And it shall not give him rest. 

* Here each proud column's bed 

Hath been wet by weeping eyes, — 
Hence ! and bestow your dead 

Where no wrong against him cries !' 

Shame glowed on each dark face 
Of those proud and steel-girt men. 

And they bought with gold a place 
For their leader's dust e'en then. 

A little earth for him 

Whose banner flew so far ! 
And a peasant's tale could dim 

The name, a nation's star ! 

One deep voice thus arose 

From a heart which wrongs had riven — 
Oh ! who shall number those 

That were but heard in Heaven ? 

William of Normandy, among other acts of arbitrary 
power which he committed in England, depopulated a 
considerable tract of country. He destioved the villages. 



POPE. 137 

with the churches and enclosures, and changed a culti- 
vated region to a wilderness, that it might serve thereafter 
for his recreation merely. Mr. Pope, early in the eigh- 
teenth century, in his poem of Windsor Forest, describes 
the beaut}' and prospeiity of that part of England in the 
reign of Queen Anne, and contrasts that happy state with 
the wretchedness of Britain under her former tyrants. 

Not thus the land appeared in ages past, 
A dreary desert, and a gloomy waste. 
To savage beasts and savage laws a prey, 
And kings more furious and severe than they ; 
Who claimed the skies, dispeopled air and floods, 
The lonely lords of empty wilds and woods : 
Cities laid waste, they stormed the dens and caves 
(For wiser brutes were backward to the slaves.) 
What could be free, when lawless beasts obeyed, 
And e'en tlie elements a tyrant swayed ? 
In vain kind seasons swelled the teeming grain, 
Soft showers distilled, and suns grew warm in vain; 
The swain with tears his frustrate labor yields, 
And famished dies amidst his ripened fields* 
What wonder, then, a beast or subject slain 
Were equal crimes in a despotic reign ? 
Both, doomed alike, for sportive tyrants bled ; 
But, that the subject starved, the beast was fed. 

Proud Nimrod first the bloody chase began, 
A mighty hunter, and his prey was man : 
Our haughty Norman boasts that barbarous name, 
And makes his trembling slaves the royal game. 
The fields are ravished from th' industrious swains, 
From men their cities, and from gods their fanes : 
The levelled towns with weeds lie covered o'er ; 
The hallow winds through naked temples roar ; 
Round broken columns clasping ivy twined ; 
O'er heaps of ruins stalks the stately hind : 
The fox obscene to gaping tombs retires, 
And savage bowlings fill the sacred quires. 
Awed by his nobles, by his commons curst, 
Th' Oppressor ruled tyrannic where he durst; 
Stretched o'er the poor and church his iron rod. 
And served alike his vassals and his God, 
12* 



l38 tOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Whom e'en the Saxon spared, and bloody Dane, 
The wanton victims of his sport remain. 
But see, the man who spacious regions gave 
A waste for beasts, himself denied a grave! 
Stretched on the hivvn his second hope survey, 
At once the chaser, and at once the prey : 
Lo ! Rufus tugLijing at the deadly dart, 
Bleeds in tlie forest like a wounded hart* 
Succeeding monarchs heard the subjects' cries, 
Nor saw displeased the peaceful cottage rise. 
Then gathering flocks on unknown mountains fed, 
O'er sandy wilds where yellow harvests spread ; 
The forests wondered at th' unusual grain, 
And secret transport touched the conscious swain. 
Fair Liberty, Britannia's goddess, rears 
Her cheerful head, and leads the golden years. 

A least or subject slain were equal crimes. — This alludes 
to the circumstance, that William's subjects were forbid' 
den to kill wild animals which should be found in the 
New Forest ; and that the punishment which the law 
inflicted upon him who took the life of a man, was no 
greater than that to which he who should kill a hare or a 
rabbit was liable. 

Stretched on the lawn his second hope survey, &c. — The 
sons of William I. were peculiarly unfortunate. William 
Rufus, who succeeded his father, was accidentally killed in 
the New Forest ; and Robert, the eldest son, was deprived 
of the Duchy of Normandy by his brother, Henry I. This 
cruel brother afterwards caused Robert's eyes to be put 
out, and kept him a prisoner at Cardiff castle, in Wales, 
twenty years. 

THE CRTTSADES. 

The crusades were religious wars. After the death of 
Christ the Romans were masters of Jerusalem and of the 
whole country which had been the scene of his life and 
labors. Near the middle of the fourth century the Roman 
Empire became partially Christian, and Helena, the mother 
of Constantine, took upon herself to identify the very spot 
at Jerusalem " where the Lord la}'," and also to erect 
churches and other monuments on the places consecrated 



THE CRUSADES. l39 

by bis living actions. After the erection of these edifices, 
and the establishment of convents in the Holy Land, as 
Palestine began to be called, religious persons from differ- 
ent countries of Europe thought it a duty to make journeys 
thither, in order to visit the shrines or sacred buildings, 
which had been raised in honor of Christ. These pious 
travellers were called Pilrjrims, and their journey was a 
Pilgrimage. 

The pilgrims chiefly begged their way through the 
countries over which they travelled, and were regarded 
with respect by all Christians, They usually dressed in 
a plain garb, cariied a scri}), or bag for their food , sus- 
tained themselves upon a staff surmounted by a cross , and 
had fastened to the front of their hats a scallop shell. 
When they returned from the Holy Land they frequently 
brought with them a branch of palm, a tree of that country, 
whence they were called Palmers. 

Spenser describes a Palmer thus : 

A silly* man in simple weeds fore worn. 
And soiled with dust of the long dried way ; 
His sandals were with toilsome travel torn, 
And face all tanned with scorching sunny ray, 
As he had travelled many a summer's day 
Through burning sands of Araby and Inde ; 
And in his hand a Jacob's staff, to stay 
His weary limbs upon ; and eke behind 
His scrip did hang, in which his needments he did bind. 

Faery Queen, Book I., Canto 6. 

Persons who wished to conceal their real name and bu- 
siness, when they engaged in some dangerous undertaking, 
would assume a Palmer's habit, because in that disguise 
they were sure of being admitted anywhere, and of being 
well treated among Christians. In the seventh century, 
the Saracens, followers of Mahomet, took Palestine and 
occupied the land. Abhorrence of Christians is among 
the principles of the Mahommedan religion ; and the Sara- 
cens took ever}^ opportunity, by the abuse of its zealous 
professors, the Pilgrims, to show their contempt for the 
religion of Christ. These pious men suffered all manner 
of indignities from the Mahommedans ; but at length 

* A simple, or plain man. 



140 POETRT FOR SCHOOLS. 

princes, nobles, and all classes of fanatics in EuropCf 
thought it their duty to leave their homes, and their nearer 
obligations, in order to punish the Infidels for their cruel- 
ties to the Pilgrims, and to tear from their sacrilegious 
hands the holy places. 

Vast armies were fitted out by different princes, and 
from A.D. 109Y to A.D. 1248, about one hundred and 
fifty years, four different Ci'usades were undertaken. More 
than two millions of men from England and western Eu- 
rope, are supposed to have marched into Asia upon these 
expeditions, and the greater number lost their lives. These 
wars were called Crusades, from the circumstande that a 
figure of the cross was a badge of the warriors ; it was 
painted upon their banners, engraved on their shields, and 
embroidered in their garments. 

RICHARt) COEUR DE LIOK. 

The most distinguished of those saints-errant who led 
the Crusades, was Richard I., King of England, called 
Coeur de Lion, or the lion-hearted, because of his fearless 
and warlike disposition. Richard engaged in the third of 
these expeditions, A.D. 1190. Dr. Warton has celebrated 
his voyage to the Holy Land in the subjoined ode. It is 
an animated and interesting picture. 

THE CRUSADE. 

Bound for holy Palestine, 

Nimbly we brushed the level brine, 

All in azure steel arrayed : 

O'er the wave our weapons played. 

And made the dancing billows glow. 

High upon the trophied prow, 

Many a warrior- minstrel swung 

His sounding harp, and boldly sung; 

"Syrian virgins, wail and weep, 

English Richard ploughs the deep ! 

Tremble, watchmen, as ye spy. 

From distant towers, with anxious eye, 

The radiant range of shield and lance 

Down Damascus' hills advance: 

From Sion's turrets as afar 

Ye ken the march of Europe's war ! 



THE CRUSADE. 141 

Saladin, thou paynim king, 

From Albion's isle revenge we bring ! 

On Aeon's spiry ciuidel, 

Though to the gale thy banners swell, 

Pictured with the silver moon ; 

England shall end thy glory soon i 

In vain to break our 6rm array. 

Thy brazen drums hoarse discord bray: 

Those sounds our rising fury fan: 

English Richard in the van, 

On to victory we go, 

A vaunting infidel the foe." 

Blondel led the tuneful band, 
And swept the wire with glowing hand. 
Cypnis, from her rocky mound. 
And Crete, with piny verdure crowned, 
Far along the smiling main 
Echoed the prophetic strain. 

Soon we kissed the sacred earth 
That gave a murdered Saviour birth; 
Then, with ardor fresh endued. 
Thus the solemn song renewed: 
*' Lo, the toilsome voyage past. 
Heaven's favored hills appear at last! 
Object of our holy vow, 
We tread the Tyrian valleys now. 
From Carmel's almond-shaded steep 
We feel the cheering fragrance creep. 
O'er Engaddi's shrubs of balm 
Waves the date-empurpled palm. 
See Lebanon's aspiring head. 
Wide his immortal umbrage spread! 
Hail, Calvary, thou mountain hoar. 
Wet with our Redeemer's gore ! 
Ye trampled tombs, ye fanes forlorn. 
Ye stones, by tears of pilgrims worn ; 
Your ravished honors to restore. 
Fearless we climb your hostile shore ! 
And thou, the sepulchre of God ! 
By mocking pagans rudely trod, 
Bereft of every awful rite. 
And quenched thy lamps that beamed so bright ; 



142 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

For thee, from Britain's distant coast, 
Lo, Richard leads his faithful host ! 
Aloft in his heroic hand, 
Blazing, like the beacon's brand. 
O'er the far affrighted fields. 
Resistless Kaliburu he wields. 

Proud Saracen, pollute no more 
The shrines by martj-rs built of yore ! 
From each wild mountain's trackless crown 
In vain thy gloomy castles frown : 
Thy battering engines, huge and high, 
In vain our steel-clad steeds defy ; 
And, rolling in terrific state. 
On giant wheels harsh thunders grate. 
When eve has hushed the buzzing camp. 
Amid the moonlight vapors damp, 
Thy necromantic forms, in vain. 
Haunt us on the tented plain : 
We bid these spectre-shapes avaunt, 
Ashtaroth, and Termagaunt ! 
With many a demon, pale of hue, 
Doomed to drink the bitter dew 
That drops from Macon's sooty tree. 
Mid the dread grove of ebony. 
Nor magic charms, nor fiends of hell. 
The Christian's holy courage quell. 

Salem, in ancient majesty 
Arise, and lift thee to the sky ! 
Soon on thy battlements divine 
Shall wave the badge of Constantine. 
Ye Barons, to the sun unfold 
Our Cross with crimson wove and gold ! 

All in azure steel arrayed. — This alludes to the minor 
worn by the soldiers; it consisted sometimes of what is 
called chain mail, and sometimes of scale mail — the former 
was the hauberk, a garment composed of interlaced rings 
of metal, which covered the person — the latter was form- 
ed of scales of steel fitted to the body. Steel armor 
sometimes exhibited a blue tint. 

The trophied prow. — Proiv, the head of a ship — that 
part which advances first in the water. It is usually 
ornamented with some carved figure, intended to represent 



THE CKUSADE. 143 

the dignity of the nation to which the ship belongs, or 
some circumstance of the enterprise in which it is engaged. 
Trophies are emblems of military prowess. Richard was a 
king— a man of great hardihood, enthusiasm, and national 
pride — his vessels were, doubtless, embellished by figures 
which indicated his sense of the glory of Britain, and the 
importance of the adventure before him. 

Many a warrior minstrel, c&c. — The ancient minstrels 
Avere poets who composed extempore verses, and sung 
them to the music of the harp, which they played them- 
selves. The minstrels were common attendants of princes 
and nobles in the middle ages, and were maintained by 
them — they usually commanded great attention and respect 
wherever they went. The minstrels in Warton's ode, bid 
the Syrian virgins dread English Richard, and the watch- 
men on the walls of Jerusalem to tremble, as the ranks of 
his soldiers with their shining shields and lances shall de- 
scend from the city of Damascus. They also threaten 
Saladin, the Saracen prince, that his glories shall soon be 
terminated, and that his triumphant banners, adorned by 
the badge of his Mussulman faith — the silver moon, or 
figure of the crescent — shall fall before the British con- 
queror. 

tJie sepulchre of God! 

By mocking pagans rudely trod, 

Bereft of every awful rite, 

And quenched thy lamps that beamed so bright. 

The Saracens, when they got possession of the Holy 
City, abolished the religious ceremonies which the Chris- 
tians had instituted, and extinguished the lamps which 
the Empress Helena had ordered to be kept continually 
burning. 

The minstrel goes on to sing that the fortifications of the 
Saracens have no terrors for the English — that neither their 
battering-rams, nor any of the engines used in war before 
the discovery of gunpowder, nor the sorceries and charms, 
the phantojns and evil spirits, conjured up to harm the 
Christians, could diminish their confidence in the God of 
their trust. He then apostrophizes ■' Salem," (Jerusalem) 
and would encourage this daughter of Sion, as this city is 
sometimes figuratively called, that she should again be 



144 TOETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

resLored to the Lord's heritage, and that the badge of Con- 
stantine should soon wave on her battlement, as a token 
that the Christians had rescued her from the Infidel. This 
'• badge of Constantine," was the sign of the Cross. Con- 
stantine caused the Cross to be painted on the standards 
borne by his armies. 

Blondel led the tuneful hand, d:c. — Richard cultivated 
poetry. Some of the Provencal Poets, called Trouba- 
bours, had been invited from France to England before 
Richard's time, and had continued to be patronized in Eng- 
land. While Richard was absent in the holy wars, which 
was almost ten years, his brother John endeavored to 
ingratiate himself with the English nation. When Richard 
learned this, lie set out on his return to England, but while 
he was in Palestine, some disaffection had arisen between 
him and the monarchs allied with him — these were the 
king of France and the emperor of Germany — and being 
shipwrecked in his voyage home, he was taken by the 
emperor and made a prisoner in Germany. After more 
than a year a ransom was paid for him, and he was per- 
mitted to go to England. A legend concerning Blondel is 
so often alluded to, that it may be useful to relate it in this 
place. 

After Richard's imprisonment in Germany, " a whole 
year elapsed before the English knew where their monarch 
was confined. Blondel de Nesle, Richard's favorite 
French minstrel, resolved to find out his lord ; and after 
travelling many days without success, at last came to a 
castle where Richard was detained. Here he found that 
the castle belonged to the Duke of Austria, and that a king 
was there imprisoned. Suspecting that the prisoner was 
his master, he found means to place himself directly before 
the window of the chamber where the king was kept ; and 
in this situation began to sing a French chanson which 
Richard and Blondel had formerly written together. When 
the king heard the song he knew it was Blondel who sung 
it; and when Blondel paused after the first half of the 
song, the king began the other half and completed it. 
Blondel then returned to England, acquainted the people 
with his discovery, and Richard was in due time libe- 
rated." 

The Crusade is a poem descriptive of the intercourse of 
Europeans with Palestine, in the twelfth century. The 



STEAM. 145 

following humorous verses, exhibit, in compcarison with 
those, the changes which six centuries have produced in 
human society. If, in the present age, swords are not all 
turned to ploughshares, nor spears into pruning hooks , if 
weapons of war are still in the service of man against his 
brother, yet the arts of peace, have, in great measure, 
taken the place of those of destruction, and the facilities of 
commerce have superseded those hostile incursions that 
formed the false glory of by-gone days. 

STEAM. 

Over the billows and over the brine, 
Over the water to Palestine ! 
Am I awake, or do I dream ? 
Over the Ocean to Syria by steam ! 
My say is sooth by this right hand 
A steamer brave 
Is on the wave, 
Bound, positively, for the Holy Land ! 

Godfrey of Boulogne, and thou, 
Richard, lion-hearted King, 
Candidly inform us, now. 
Did you ever ? 
No, you never 
Could have fancied such a thing. 

Never such vociferations 
Entered your imaginations 
As the ensuing — 

" Ease her, stop her !" 
" Any gentleman for Joppa ?" 
" 'Mascus, 'Mascus ?" " Ticket, please. Sir." 
" Tyre or Sidon ?" " Stop her, ease her ?" 
" Jerusalem, 'lem ! 'lem !"— " Shur ! Shur !" 
" Back her !" " Stand clear, I say, old file !" 
" What gent or lady's for the Nile, 
" Or Pyramids ?" " Thebes! Thebes ! Sir 1" 
" Steady !" " Now where 's that party for Engedi." 

Pilgrims holy, Red Cross Knights 

Had you e'er the least idea, 
Even in your wildest flights 

Of a steam trip to Judea ? 
13 



146 I' O E T R Y FOR SCHOOLS, 

What next marvel time will show. 
It is difficult to say, 
" Buss," percliance to Jericho ; 
" Only sixpence all tlie way " 
Cabs in Solyma may ply : — 

— 'Tis not an unlikely tale — 
And from Dan the tourist hie 
Unto Beersheba by rail. 

Punch, English paper. 



JOANNA BAILLIE. 

This distinguished woman is still living. She is the 
niece of John Hunter, the eminent anatomist, and sister of 
Dr. Baillie, late physician to the King of England, one of 
the most celebrated medical practitioners of his time ; but 
her consanguinity to these men of genius reflects no more 
honor upon her than their relationship to her does upon 
them. If there is any honorable pride in family connexions 
it is in the self-complacency which we derive from the fact 
that one of the same race with ourselves has shed lustre 
upon all of our blood by the splendor of acknowledged 
talent or virtue. 

Miss Baillie is chiefly known as a dramatic author. Her 
plays are not well adapted to the public taste of this age, 
but abounding in highly poetic passages, they 'are admired 
by readers of the finest taste. Sir Walter Scott, Lord 
Byron, and many others of the most gifted minds, have 
loved to celebrate Joanna Baillie. Sir Walter Scott says, 
Shakspeare's 

harp had silent hung, 

By silver Avon's holy shore, 
Till twice a hundred years rolled o'er, 
When she, the bold Enchantress, came, 
With fearless hand and heart on flame, 
From the pale willow snatched the treasure, 
And swept it with a kindred measure. 



JOANNA BAILLIE. 147 

Till Avon's swans, while rung the grove 
With Montfort's hate and Basil's love, 
Awakened at the inspiring sti'ain. 
Dreamed their own Shakspeare lived again. 

Basil and Montfort are heroes of Mss Baillie's tragedies, 

PRINCE KDw A.RT> alone in prison. 

Doth the bright sun from the liigh arch of heaven 
In all his beauteous robes of fleckered clouds, 
And ruddy vapors, and deep glowing flames. 
And softly varied shades, look gloriously ? 
Do the green woods dance to the wind ? the lakes 
Cast up their sparkling waters to the light ? 
Do the sweet hamlets in their busy dells 
Send winding up to heaven their curhng smoke 
On the soft morning air ? 

Do the flocks bleat, and the wild creatures bound 
In antic happiness ? and mazy birds 
Wing the mid air in lightly skimming bands ? 
Ay, all this is ; men do behold all this ; 
The poorest man. E'en in this lonely vault, 
My dark and narrow world, oft I do hear 
The crowing of the cock so near my wall, 
And sadly think how small a space divides me 
From all this fair creation. 

From the wide spreading bounds of beauteous nature 
I am alone shut out ; I am forgotten. 
Peace, peace ! He who regards the poorest worm, 
Still cares for me. Perhaps small as these walls, 
A bound unseen divides my dreary state 
From a more beauteous world ; that world of souls ; 
Feared and desired by all ; a veil unseen 
Which soon shall be withdrawn. 
The air feels chill ; methinks it should be night, 
I'll lay me down ; perchance kind sleep will come. 
And open to my view an inward world 
Of garnished fantasies, from which nor walls. 
Nor bars, nor tyrant's power can shut me out. 

PRINCE EDWARD and kis KEEPER. 

£!d. What brings thee now ; it surely cannot be 



148 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

The time of food : my prison hours are Avont 
To fly more heavily. 

Keep. It is not food : I bring wherewith, my lord. 
To stop a rent in these old walls, that oft 
Hath grieved me, when I've thought of you of nights ; 
Through it the cold wind visits you. 

Ed. And let it enter ! it shall not be stopped. 
Who visits me besides the winds of heaven ? 
Who mourns with me but the sad-sighing wind ? 
Who bringeth to mine ear the mimicked tones 
Of voices once beloved and sounds long past. 
But the light-winged and many voiced wind ? 
Who fans the prisoner's lean and fevered cheek 
As kindly as the monarch's wreathed brows 
But the free piteous wind ? 
I will not have it stopped. 

Keep. My lord, the winter now creeps on apace : 
Hoar frost this morning on our sheltered fields 
Lay thick, and glanced to the up-risen sun. 
Which scarce had power to melt it. 

Ed. Glanc'd to the up-risen sun ! Ay, such fair morns. 
When every bush doth put its glory on. 
Like a gemmed bride ! you rustics now 
And early binds, will set their clouted feet 
Through silver webs, so bright and finely wrought 
As royal dames ne'er fashioned, yet plod on 
Their careless way, unheeding. 
Alas, how many glorious things there be 
To look upon ! Wear not the forests, now. 
Their latest coat of richly varied dyes ? 

Keep. Yes, my good lord, the cold chill year advances. 
Therefore, I pray you, let me close that wall. 

Ed. I tell thee no, man ; if the north air bites, 
Bring me a cloak. Where is thy dog to-day ? 

Keep. Indeed I wonder that he came not with me 
As he is wont. 

Ed. Bring him, I pray thee, when thou com'st again. 
He wags his tail and looks up to my face 
With the assured kindliness of one 
Who has not injured me. 



SCOTT. 149 



SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

It has been said to be a happy circumstance for us of the 
nineteenth century, that we live in the age of the author of 
Wavei'ly. At the time this remark was made, the author 
of Waverly was ahve, but unknown to the world in general, 
For more than ten years the press at Edinburgh sent forth 
a succession of novels, which entertained the whole reading 
world. Waverly was the first of these charming books, and 
the author studiously concealed himself from the curiosity 
of the public. The author of Waverly was rightly suspect- 
ed to be Walter Scott. About the year 1805, the Lay of 
the Last Minstrel was published. This poem was acknow- 
ledged to be the production of Mr. Scott. He was a native 
of Scotland, curious in the antiquities of that country, and 
has long been known for his researches into Scottish poetry, 
for his talent of general criticism, and his poetic invention. 

After the publication of the Lay, Scott wrote Marmion, 
and several other metrical romances of extraordinary beauty. 
The novels before mentioned bear many resemblances to 
the poems, and on these resemblances was founded the 
presumption that the poet was also the novelist. All con- 
jecture upon this subject was put at rest, by the declara- 
tion of Sir Walter Scott that he was, in truth, the author 
of Waverly. 

This poet has, with much propriety, been compared with 
Shakspeare. " Shakspeare," says Mr. Campbell, " hved in 
an age within the verge of chivalry, an age overflowing with 
chivalrous and romantic reading ; he was led by his voca- 
tion to have daily recourse to that kind of reading ; he dwelt 
on the spot which gave him constant access to it, and was 
in habitual intercourse with men of genius." 

Sir Walter Scott lived when the "age of chivalry was 
gone ;" but his country overflows with romantic reading andi 
traditions, and his genius seems to have taken its inspira- 
tions and the subjects of invention chiefly from these sources 
— from the state of society, the character and sentiments of 
men of various ranks, as they are recorded to have existed 
under the influences of the feudal system, and the times 
immediately succeeding. Like Sliakspeare, he had the 
talent, each change of many-colored life to draw, to move 
laughter and to excite tears. The parallelism between 
13* 



150 POETRT FOE 8CHOOL8. 

these great men, however, applies rather to the attributes 
of their genius than to their condition in hfe. Mediocrity 
of fortune, and a moderate estimate of his talents, was all 
the outward meed awarded to Shakspeare by his contem- 
poraries. 

Homer says of poets, they are regarded as divine beings, 
•' far as the sun displays his vital fire." But few poets 
have the happiness to live in the " blaze of their fame " as 
Scott did. Wherever English is read there the poems and 
the novels of the immortal Northern Minstrel are known, 
and from every region where tliey are known the tribute of 
praise and admiration is offered to him. On the accession 
of George IV. (1820) one of the first acts of his reign was 
to bestow on Mr. Scott the rank of baronet, and he has 
since been known as Sir Walter Scott. Scott died in 1832, 
at the age of sixty-two years. 

Tlie Lay of the Last Minstrel consists of a tale in verse, 
supposed to be recited by a wandering minstrel who took 
refuge in the castle of Anne, Duchess of Buccleuch, and 
Monmouth, representative of the ancient lords of Buccleuch, 
and widow of the unfortunate James, Duke of Monmouth, 
who was beheaded in 1685. 

The minstrel recites to the Duchess and her ladies a story 
of her ancestors, 

THE LAST MINSTREL. 

The way was long, the wind was cold. 
The minstrel was infirm and old ; 
His withered cheek, and tresses gray. 
Seemed to have known a better day ; 
The harp, his sole remaining joy, 
Was carried by an orphan boy. 
The last of all the bards was he, 
Who sung of border chivalry. 
For, well-a-day ! their date was fled. 
His tuneful brethren all were dead, 
And he, neglected and oppressed. 
Wished to be with them and at rest. 

No more, on prancing palfrey borne. 
He carolled light ns lark at morn ; 
No longer courted and caressed, 
High placed in hall, a welcome guest, 



SCOTT, 161 

He poured to lord and lady gay, 

The unpremeditated lay : 

Old times were changed, old manners gone; 

A stranger filled the Stuart's throne ; 

The bigots of the iron time 

Had call'd his harmless art a crime. 

A wandering Harper, scorned and poor, 

He begged his bread from door to door ; 

And tuned, to please a peasant's ear. 

The harp, a king had loved lo hear. 

He passed where Newark's stately tower 
Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bovver ; 
The minstrel gazed with wishful eye : 
No humbler resting-place was nigh. 
With hesitating step at last, 
The embattled portal-arch he passed, 
Whose ponderous grate and massy bar 
Had oft rolled back the tide of war, 
But never closed the iron door 
Against the desolate and poor. 
The Duchess marked his weary pace, 
His timid mien, and i-everend face, 
And bade her page the menials tell. 
That they should tend the old man well J 
For she had known adversity, 
Though born in such a high degree ; 
In pride of power, in beauty's bloom, 
Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb ! 

When kindness had his wants supplied. 
And the old man was gratified. 
Began to rise his minstrel pride : 
And he began to talk anon, 
Of good Earl Francis, dead and gone. 
And of Earl Walter, rest him God ! 
A braver ne'er to battle rode : 
And how full many a tale he knew. 
Of the old warriors of Buccleuch ; 
And, would the noble Duchess deign 
To listen to an old man's strain, 
Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak, 
He thought e'en yet, the sooth to speak, 
That, if she loved the harp to hear, 
He could make music to her ear. 



152 POETKV FOR SCHOOLS. 

The humble boon was soon obtained; 
The aged Minstrel audience gained. 
But when he reached the room of state, 
Where she, with all her ladies, sate, 
Perchance he wished his boon denied : 
For when to tune his harp he tried, 
His trembling hand had lost the ease. 
Which marks security to please ; 
And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, 
Came wildering o'er his aged brain — 
He tried to tune his harp in vain. 
The pitying Duchess praised its chime. 
And gave him heart, and gave him time, 
Till every string's according glee 
Was blended into harmony. 

And then, he said, ho would full fain 
He could recall an ancient strain. 
He never thought to sing again. 
It was not framed for village churls. 
But for high dames and mighty earls ; 
He had played it to king Charles the Good, 
When he kept court in Holyrood ; 
And much he wished, yet feared, to try 
The long-forgotten melody. 

Amid the strings his fingers strayed, 
And an uncertain warbling made. 
And oft he shook his hoary head. 
But when he caught the measure wild. 
The old man raised his face, and smiled ; 
And lighted up his faded eye, 
With all a poet's ecstasy ! 
In varying cadence, soft or strong. 
He swept the sounding chords along: 
The present scene, the future lot. 
His toils, his wants, were all forgot ; 
Cold diffidence, and age's frost, 
In the full tide of song were lost; 
Each blank, in faithless memory void. 
The poet's glowing thought supplied : 
And, while his harp responsive rung, 
'Twas thus the Latest Minstrel sunw. 



SCOTT. 153 

Of good Earl Francis, dbc. — Francis Scott, Earl of Buc- 
cleuch, father of the Duchess. 

And of Earl Walter, etc. — Walter, Earl of Buccleuch, 
grand-father to the Duchess, and a celebrated warrior. 

" Hushed is the harp — the Minstrel gone. 
And did he wander forth alone ? 
Alone, in indiajence and age, 
To hnger out his pilgrimage ? 
No : — close beneath proud Newark's tower, 
Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower ; 
A simple hut ; but there was seen 
The little garden hedged with green, ' 
The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean, 
There sheltered wanderers, by the blaze, 
Oft heard the tale of other days ; 
For much he loved to ope his door 
And give the aid he begged before. 

So passed the winter's day ; but still, 
When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill, 
And July's eve, with balmy breath. 
Waved the blue-bells on Newark heath ; 
When throstles sung in Hare-head shaw, 
And corn was green on Carterhaugh, 
And flourished, broad, Blacandro's oak. 
The aged Harper's soul awoke ! 
Then would he sing achievements high, 
And circumstance of chivalry, 
Till the rapt traveller would stay. 
Forgetful of the closing day ; 
And noble youths, the strain to hear, 
Forsook the hunting of the deer ; 
And Yarrow, as he rolled along, 
Bore burden to the Minstrel's song." 

IMPROVISATORI. 

From the beginning of the seventeenth century min- 
strelsy went out of practice in Britain, but in Italy the 
recitation of extemporary poetry still constitutes a popular 
amusement. 

About eighty years ago Benjamin West, a native of Ame- 
rica, went to Rome to study the art of painting. Hia 



154 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

biog-raplier, Mr. Gait, relates the manner in which this 
celebrated artist was entertained by an Impi'ovisatore, one 
of the extemporaneous Italian poets. 

" One night, soon after his arrival in Rome, Mr. Gavin 
Hamilton, the painter, to whom he had been introduced 
by Mr. Robinson, took him to a coffee-house, the usual 
resort of Briiish travellers. While they were sitting atone 
of tlie tables, a venerable old man, with a guitar suspended 
from his shoulder, entered the room, and coming immedi- 
ately to their table, Mr. Hamilton addressed him by the 
name of Homer. He was the most celebrated improvisa- 
tore in all Italy, and the richness of expression, and noble- 
ness of conception which he displayed in his effusions, had 
obtained fur him that distinguished name. 

'* Those who once heard his poetry, never ceased to la- 
ment that it was lost in the same moment, affirming that ifc 
often was so regular and dignified, as to equal the finest 
compositions of Tasso and Ariosto. It will, perhaps, afford 
some gratification to the admirers of native genius to learn, 
that this old man, though led by the fine frenzy of his 
imagination to prefer a wild and wandering life to the offer 
of a settled independence, which had been made him in his 
youth, enjoyed in his old age, by the liberality of several 
Englishmen, who had raised a subscription for the purpose, 
a small pension, sufficient to keep him comfortable in his 
own way, when he became incapable of amusing the 
public. 

"After some conversation. Homer requested Mr. H;ira- 
ilton to give him a subject for a poem. In the meantime, 
a number of Italians had gathered round them to look at 
West, who they had heard was an American, and whom, 
like Cardinal Albani,* they imagined to be an Indian. 
Some of them, on hearing Homer's request, observed, that 
he had exhausted his vein, and had already said and sung 
every subject over and over. Mr. Hamilton, however, 
remarked that he thought he could propose something new 
to the bard, and pointing to Mr. West, said, that he was 
an American, come to study the fine arts in Rome ; and 
that such an event furnished a new and magnificent theme. 

" Homer took possession of the thought with the ardor 
of inspiration. He immediately unslung his guitar, and 
began to draw his fingers rapidly over the strings, swing- 

• A Pimiiish Cardinal, who presumed that American si'.^uiflod Indian. 



IMPROVISATORl. 155 

ing his body from side to side, and striking fine and im- 
pressive chords. When he had thus brought his motions 
and feehngs into unison with the instrument, he began an 
extemporaneous ode in a manner so dignified, so pathetic, 
and so enthusiastic, that Mr. West was scarcely less inte- 
rested by his appearance than those who enjoyed the sub- 
ject and melody of his numbers. 

" He sung the darkness which for so many ages veiled 
America from the eyes of science. He described the fulness 
of time, when the purpose for which it had been raised 
from the deep was to be manifested. He painted the 
seraph of knowledge descending from heaven, and direct- 
ing Columbus to undertake the discovery : and he related 
the leading incidents of the voyage. He invoked the fancy 
of the auditors to contemplate the wild m:ignificcnce of 
mountain, lake, and wood, in the new world ; and he raised, 
as it were, in vivid perspective, the Indians in the chase, 
and at their horrible sacrifices. ' But,' he continued, ' the 
beneficent spirit of improvement is ever on the wing, and, 
like the ray from the throne of God, it has descended on 
this youth, and the hope which ushered in its new miracle, 
like the star that guided the magi to Bethlehem, has led 
him to Rome. 

" ' Methinks I behold in him an instrument chosen by 
heaven, to raise in America the taste for those arts which 
elevate the nature of man — an assurance that his country 
will afford a refuge to science and knowledge, when in the 
old age of Europe they shall have forsaken her shores. 
But all things of heavenly origin, like the glorious sun, 
move westward ; and truth and art have their periods of 
shining and of night. Rejoice then, O venerable Rome, in 
thy divine destiny ; for though darkness overshadow thy 
seats, and though thy mitred head must descend into the 
dust, as deep as the earth that now covers thy ancient 
helmet and imperial diadem, thy spirit, immortal and un- 
decayed, already reaches towards a new world, where, like 
the soul of man in paradise, it will be perfected in virtue 
and beauty more and more.' 

" The highest efforts of the greatest actors, even of 
Garrick himself delivering tlie poetry of Shakspeare, never 
produced a more immediate and inspiring effect than this 
rapid burst of genius. When the applause had abated, 
Mr. West, being the stranger, and the party addressed, 



156 rOKTRV FOR SCHOOLS. 

according; to the common practice, made the bard a present. 
Mr. Hamilton explained the subject of the ode : though 
with the weakness of a verbal translation, and the im- 
perfection of an indistinct echo, it was so connected with 
the appearance which the author made in the recital, that 
the incident was never obliterated from Mr. West's recol- 
lection." 



THE CHILD OF BRANKSOME. 

Among the inmates of castles, and the attendants of the 
Knights, were the Dwarfs — little deformed persons who 
made sport for the idle, and who were sometimes favorites 
of young and beautiful ladies. The old romances describe 
dwarfs as possessing supernatural powers. In the Lay of 
the Last Minstrel, a mischievous Dwarf is introduced, who 
had the power to deceive others, by making objects appear 
to be different from themselves — so as to make a rider and 
his horse seem to be a load of hay — a child to be a dog, 
&c. This dwarf of Sir Walter Scott's enters the castle of 
Buccleuch, and entices from it a little boy, the heir of 
Branksome. He leads the child into the woods, and leaves 
him ; here the boy is scented by a blood-hound, and taken 
by one of the retainers of Lord Dacre, an Englishman, who 
was an enemy of the Scotts, the boy's father's Clan. Clan 
signifies a large number of tenants who acknowledge one 
lord, who live upon his estate, and who, in former times, 
fought the lord's battles with his neighbors — the application 
of this word is chiefly to the Scotts. The spirit of this little 
Scott is a fine specimen of the manners of the young chiefs 
of the Scottish clans, who were trained from their infancy 
to protect their father's dependants, and to regard his ene- 
mies without fear. 

As passed the Dwarf the outer court, 
He spied the fair young child at sport : 
He thought to train him to the wood ; 
For, at a word, be it understood, 
He was always for ill, and never for good. 
Seemed to the boy, some comrade gay 
Led him forth to the woods to play ; 
On the drawbridge the warders stout 
Saw a terrier and larclieT passing out. 



SCOTT. 167 

He led the boy o'er bank and fell, 
Until they came to a woodland brook ; 

The running stream dissolved the spell, 
And his old elvish shape he took. • 

Could he have had his pleasure vilde, 
He had crippled the joints of the noble child 
Or, with his fingers long and lean. 
Had strangled him in fiendish spleen : 
But his awful mother he had in dread, 
And also his power was limited ; 
So he but scowled on the startled child, 
And darted through the forest wild ; 
The woodland brook lie bounding crossed, 
And laughed, and shouted, ' Lost ! lost ! lost !' 

Full sore amazed at the wondrous change. 

And frightened, as a child might be, 
At the wild yell, and visage strange, 

And the dark words of gramarye, 
The child, amidst the forest bower. 
Stood rooted like a lilye flower ; 

And when at lengtli, with trembling pace, 
He sought to find where Branksome lay, 

He feared to see that grisly face 

Glare from some thicket on his way. 
Thus, starting oft, he journeyed on. 
And deeper in the wood is gone, — 
For aye the more he sought his way, 
The further still he went astray. 
Until he heard the mountains round 
Ring to the baying of the hound. 

And hark ! and hark ! the deep-mouthed bark 

Comes nigher still, and nigher ; 
Bursts on the path a dark blood-hound, 
His tawny muzzle tracked the ground. 

As his red eye shot fire. 
Soon as the wildered child saw he, 
He flew at him right furiouslie. 
I ween you would have seen with joy 
The bearing of the gallant boy. 
When worthy of his noble sire. 
His wet cheek glowed 'twixt fear and ire ! 
14 



158 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

He faced the blood-hound manfully, 
And held his little bat on high ; 
So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid, 
At cautious distance hoarsely bayed, 

But still in act to spring ; 
When dashed an archer through the glade. 
And when he saw the hound was stayed. 

He drew his tough bow-string ; 
But a rough voice cried, ' Shoot not, hoy ! 
Ho ! shoot not Edward — 'tis a boy !' 

The speaker issued from the wood. 
And checked his fellow's surly mood, 

And quelled the ban-dog's ire. 
He would not do the fair child harm, 
But held him with his powerful arm. 
That he might neither fight nor flee ; 
For when the red cross spied he, 
The boy st)ove long and violently. 
'Now, by St. George,' the archer cries, 
' Edward, metliinks we have a prize ! 
This boy's fair face and courage free. 
Shows he is come of high degree.' — 

' Yes, I am come of high degree, 

For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch ; 
And, if thou dost not set me free, 

False southron, thou shalt dearly rue ! 
For Walter of Harden shall come with speed. 
And William of Deloraine, good at need, 
And every Scot from Eske to Tweed ! 
And if thou dost not let me go. 
Despite thy arrows, and tliy bow, 
I'll have thee hanged to feed the croAV !' 

' Gramercy, for thy good will, fair boy ! 
My mind was never set so high ; 
But if thou art chief of such a clan. 
And art the son of such a man, 
And ever com'st to thy command. 

Our wardens had need to keep good order 
My bow of yew to a hazel w^and, 

Thou'lt make them work upon the Border, 
Meantime, be pleased to come with me, 
For Good Lord Dacre shalt thou see ; 



SCOTT, 159 

I think our work is well begun, 
When we have taken tliy father's son.' 

His old elvish shape he took. — Those who describe the 
powei* of witches and dwarfs, pretend they cannot cross a 
brook in their assumed form. The dwarf had appeared to 
tlie deceived bo}' to be a companion of his own age. When 
he took his own shape, and darted away, yelling as he dis- 
appeared, the child was frightened — but the real danger 
from tlie blood-hound does not terrify him. 

His awful mother he had in dread. — The dwarf was afraid 
of the child's mother. She was more skilled in necromancy, 
or gramarrje, than he was. 

THE GALLIARd's WHITE HORSE. 

Under the feudal system, the vassals were considered as 
cattle. A man was not valued at so much as a war-horse.. 
At length, however, the vassals began to feel their import- 
ance, and they did not always comply Avith the demands of 
their lord, who might, if he would, punish them for their 
disobedience, or give them with the lands they cultivated, 
to another master. The tenants under this system were 
superior to mere laborers; they held lands in fief — as the 
grant, under certain conditions, of their lord. These were 
c-a\\q({ feudatories, and their propertj^ was called 'A fief . 

When a man received liis tief, he became the liegeman of 
the liege or lord ; and w^hen he acknowledged the relation 
subsisting between himself and the lord, the liegeman offer- 
ed the lord homage. He then knelt before him, and plac- 
ing liis hands upon the lord's knees, said, " Sire, I become 
your liegeman for such a fief, and I promise to guard and 
defend you against all people." The lord answered, " I 
receive you ; and 3'our lands I will defend as my own :" he 
then kissed his tenant as a pledge of faith. 

One instance of tlie spirit of resistance to feudal power, 
and its consequences, is told by Sir Walter Scott : 

Earl Morton was lord of that valley* fair. 
The Beattisons were his vassals there. 
Tlie Earl was gentle, and mild of mood, 
The vassals were w^arlike, and fierce, and rude ; 

• Eskdalo. 



160 POETRY FOB SCHOOLS. 

High of heart, and haughty of word. 
Little they recked of a tame liege lord. 
The Earl to fair Eskdale came, 
Homage and Seignory to claim : 
Of Gilbert the Galliard, a heriot* he sought, 
Saying, ' Give thy best steed as a vassal ought. 
' Dear to me is my bonny white steed. 
Oft has he helped me at pinch of need ; 
Lord and Earl though thou be, I trow, 
1 can rein Bucksfoot better than thou.' 

Word on word gave fuel to fire. 
Till so highly blazed the Beattison's ire, 
But that "the Earl the flight had ta'en, 
The vassals there their lord had slain. 
Sore he plied both whip and spur. 
As he urged his steed through Eskdale muir ; 
And it fell down a weary weight. 
Just on the threshold of Branksome gate. 
The Earl was a wrathful man to see, 
Full fain avenged would he be. 
In haste to Branksome's lord he spoke. 
Saying, ' Take these traitors to thy yoke, 
For a cast of Hawks and a purse of gold. 
All Eskdale I'll see thee to have and to hold : 
Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' clan 
If thou leavest on Eske a landed man ; 
But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone, 
For he lent me his horse to escape upon. — 

A glad man then was Branksome bold, 
Down he flung him the purse of gold ; 
To Eskdale soon he spurred amain. 
And with him five hundred riders has ta'en. 
He left his merrymen in the midst of the hill 
And bade them hold them close and still ; 
And alone he wended to the plain, 
To meet with the Galliard and all his train. 
To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said : — 
Know thou me for thy liege lord and head ; 
Deal not with me as with Morton tame. 
For Scotts play best at the roughest game. 

•The feudal superior, in certain cases, was entitled to the best horse of the 
vassal, in name of Heriot, or Herezeld, a gift due from the tenant to his lord at 
oertam times. 



8C0TT. 161 

Give me in peace my lieiiot due. 

Thy bonny white steed, or thou shalt rue. 

If my horn I three times wind, 

Eskdale shall long have the sound in mind.' — 

Loudly the Beattison laughed in scorn ; — 
* Little care we for thy winded horn. 
Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's lot, 
To yield his steed to a haughty Scott. 
Wend thou to Branksorae back on foot, 
With rusty spur and miry boot.' 
He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse, 
That the dun deer started at far Craikcross ; 
He blew again so loud and clear. 

Through the gray mountain mist there did lances appear ; 
And the third blast rang with sucii a din, 
That the echoes answered from Peatoun-linn ; 
And all his riders came liglitly in. 
Then you had seen a gallant shock, 
When saddles were emptied and lances broke : 
For each scornful word the Galliard liad said, 
A Beattison on the field was laid. 
His own good sword the chieftain drew. 
And he bored the GalHard through and through ; 
Where the Beattisons' blood mixed with the rill, 
The Galliard's Haugh, men call it still. 
Tlie Scotts have scattered the Beattison clan, 
In Eskdale they left but one landed man. 
The valley of Eske, from the mouth to the source, 
Was lost and won for that bonny white horse." 

BORDER WARS. 

The history of the border wars of Scotland is highl}' inte- 
resting. Scotland is only divided from England by an arti- 
ficial boundary, but the two regions Avere once governed by 
different kings and laws, and the people thought they had 
different and clashing interests. Those who lived on the 
border, or contiguous territories of the two dominions, paid 
little regard to any laws. They took justice into their own 
hands, or rather they defied justice, and devastated each 
other's property as much as they could, and tliey kept 
up for ages the hostilities which some needy robber had 
begun. 

14* 



162 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

In the third canto of the Lady of the Lake — The Gath- 
ering — Sir Walter Scott represents in a very vivid manner, 
the spirit and alacrity with which the clansmen assembled 
themselves at the call of their chiefs. When the clansmen 
were suddenly summoned to their lord's defence, or that of 
his allies, a signal was carried through the tract of country 
which they inhabited, and with almost incredible speed they 
assembled themselves at the " trysting place," or, as we say 
from the French, at the Rendezvous. The funeral and the 
wedding were alike suspended at this summons, and the 
mourner and the bride were forgotten in the claim of a 
Scottish chief. 

Fast as the fatal symbol flies. 
In arms the huts and hamlets rise ; 
From winding glen, from upland brown. 
They poured each hardy tenant down. 
Nor slacked the messenger his pace ; 
He showed the sign, he named the place. 
And, pressing forward like the wind, 
Left clamor and surprise behind. 

Tlie fisherman forsook the strand, 
The swarthy smith took dirk and brand ; 
With changed cheer, the mower blithe 
Left in the half-cut swathe his scythe ; 
The herds without a keeper strayed, 
The plough was in mid-furrow staid, 
The falc'ner tossed his hawk away, 
The hunter left the stag at bay ; 
Prompt at the signal of alarms, 
Each son of Alpine rushed to arms ; 
From the gray sire, whose trembling hand 
Could hardly buckle on his brand, 
To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow 
Were yet scarce terror to the crow. 

Each valley, each sequestered glen, 
Mustered its httle horde of men. 
That met as torrents from the height 
In Highland dale their streams unite. 
Still gathering, as they pour along, 
A voice more loud, a tide more strong. 
Till at the rendezvous they stood 
By hundreds prompt for blows and blood ; 



BCOTT. 163 

Each trained to arms since life began, 
Owning no tie but to his chin. 
No oath, but by his Chieftnin's liand, 
No law, but Roderick Dhu's command. 

The predatory habits of these clans originated in their 
rapacity and indolence, and were carried on by the spirit 
of retaliation. The chiefs, however, possessed some high 
qualities in conjunction with the passions which produced 
such shocking results. Ellen, in The Lady of the Lake, 
describes this combination of revolting and praiseworthy 
traits. She speaks of Roderick Dhu, the chief of Clan 
Alpme : 

I grant him liberal, to fling 

Among his clan the wealth they biing, 

When back by lake and glen they wind, 

And in the Lowland leave behind, 

Where once some pleasant hamlet stood, 

A mass of ashes slaked with blood. 

The hand, that for my father fought, 

I honor, as his dausfhter ouf^ht ; 

But can I clasp it reeking red. 

From peasants slaughtered in their shed ? 

No 1 wildly while his virtues gleam 

They make his passions darker seem, 

And flash along his spirit high, 

Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. 

THE ALARM. 

The story of Sir Walter Scott's Minstrel is one of the 
warfare of the Scotts, (the family of the Dukes of Buc» 
cleuch,) with southern force and guile. — 

When Scrope, and Howard, and Percy's powers 
Threatened Branksome's lordly towers. 

Branksome was the castle of the Buccleuch family and 
Scrope, Howard, and Percy are names of English noble- 
men from " Warkworth, and Naworth, and merry CarUsle," 
who were open enemies of tlie Scotts of Buccleuch. The 
action of the poem is dated about lo50. 



164 POETRT FOR SCHOOLS. 

In anticipation of an attack from the southern powers, 
the Scotts mustered the clans, their neighbors and allies* 
The alarm is exhibited with wonderful animation. 

the evening fell, 

'Twas near the time of curfew bell ; 

The air was mild, the Avind was calm, 

The stream was smooth, the dcAv was balnl, 

E'en the rude watchman, on the tower, 

Enjoyed and blessed the lovely hour. 

Far 'more fair Margaret loved and blessed 

The hour of silence and of rest. 

On the high turret sitting lone. 

She waked at times the lute's soft tone ; 

Touched a wild note, and all between 

Thought of the bower of hawthorn green. 

Her golden hair streamed free from band, 

Her fair cheek rested on her hand. 

Her blue eye sought the west afar, 

For lovers love the western star. 

Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, 

That rises slowly to her ken, 

And, spreading broad its wavering light, 

Shakes its loose tresses on the night ? 

Is yon red glare the western star ? — - 

0, 'tis the beacon blaze of war ! 

Scarce could slie draw her tightened breath, 

For well she knew the fire of death ! 

The warder viewed it blazing strong. 
And blew his war-note loud and long, 
Till, at the high and haughty sound, 
Rock, wood, and river, rang around. 
The blast alarmed the festal hall, 
And started forth the warriors all ; 
Far downward, in the castle-yard. 
Full many a torch and cresset glared ; 
And helms and plumes confusedly tossed. 
Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost ; 
And spears in wild disorder shook. 
Like reeds beside a frozen brook. 

The Seneschal, whose silver hair 
Was reddened by the torches' glare. 



166 



Stood in the midst, with gesture proud, 
And issued forth his mandates loud, 
' On Penchryst glows a bale of fire 
And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire ; 

Ride out, ride out, 

The foe to scout ! 
Moimt, mount, for Brankso7ne, every man ! 
Thou, Todrig, warn the Jolinstone clan. 

That ever are true and stout. 
Ye need not send to Liddesdale ; 
For, when they see the blazing bale, 
Elliots and Armstrongs never fail. — 
Ride, Alton, ride for death and life ! 
And warn the warden of the strife. 
Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze. 
Our kin, and clan, and friends, to raise.* 

Fair Margaret, from the turret head. 
Heard, far below, the coursers' tread. 

While loud the harness rung. 
As to their seats with clamor dread. 

The ready horsemen sprung ; 

And trampling hoofs, and iron coats, 
And leaders' voices mingled notes. 
And out ! and out ! 
In hasty route. 

The horsemen galloped forth ; 
Dispersing to the south to scout. 

And east, and west, and north. 
To view their coming enemies. 
To warn their vassals and allies. 
The ready page, with hurried hand. 
Awaked the need- fires slumbering brand. 

And ruddy blushed the heaven : 
For a sheet of flame, from the turret high, 
Waved like a bloodflag on the sky. 

All flaring and uneven ; 
And soon a score of fires, I ween. 
From height, and hill, and cliflf, were seen ; 
Each with warlike tidings fraught ; 
Each from each the signal caught; 
Each after each they glanced to sight, 
As stars arise upon the night. 



166 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

They gleamed on many a dusky tarny 
Haunted by the lonely earn ; 
On many a cairn s gray pyramid, 
Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid : 
Till high Dunedin the blazes saw, 
From Soltra and Dumpender Law ; 
And Lothian heard the regent's order. 
That all should howne them for the Border. 

The livelong night in Branksome rang 

The ceaseless sound of steel : 
The castle bell, with backward clang. 

Sent forth the larum peal ; 
Was frequent heard the heavy jar. 
Where massy stone and iron bar 
Were piled on echoing keep and tower. 
To whelm the foe with deadly shower ; 
Was frequent heard the changing guard, 
And watchword from the sleepless ward ; 
While, wearied by the endless din, 
Blood-hound and ban-dog yelled within. 

The noble dame, amid the broil, 
Shared the gray Seneschal's high toil, 
And spoke of danger with a smile ; 
Cheered the young knights, and council sage 
Held witli the chiefs of riper age. 
No tidings of the foe were brought, 
Nor of his numbers knew they aught, ~ 
Nor in what time tlie truce he sought. 

Some said that there were thousands ten. 
And others weened that it was nought 

But Leven clans, or Tynedale men. 
Who came to gather in black mail ; 
And Liddesdale, witli small avail, 

Miglit drive them lightly back agen. 
So passed the anxious night away, 
And welcome was the peep of day. 

The castle of the Scotts, at the time expressed in the 
verses, was in possession of the widow of its late lord. The 
fair Margaret is the Lady's daughter. 

Is yon red glare the western star ? No ; it is the war 



6 C O T T . 16^ 

signal. On some distant and elevated spot, the Scotts kept 
a, post of observation — a place where some of their clan were 
stationed to observe if any armed force marclied towards 
the castle. As soon as the watcliman discovered move- 
ments among the enemy, he gave notice of it by lighting a 
fire, which was seen at another high place, where another 
watch was stationed. The second watchman lighted a bale 
fire, which another saw ; and thus, by a succession of signs, 
the endangered family got infonnation of their danger, and 
prepared themselves for defence. This mode of giving 
information, was in ancient times in use among the Greeks 
and Asiatics. In Agamemnon, a tragedy of vEschylus, the 
circumstance of the taking of Troy is represented to have 
been thus transmitted to Peloponnesus. 

The time of curfew bell — about eight o'clock at night. 

Warder — a watchman who gave notice of danger to the 
inmates of the castle. 

Seneschal — an officer who regulated ceremonies, and gave 
orders upon emergencies. 

Bale — beacon-faggot. 

Mount for Branksome was the gathering word of the 
Scotts. 

Need- fire — beacon. 

Tarn — a mountain lake. 

Earn — The Scottish eagle. 

Cairn — a pile of stones. 

Bowne — make ready. 

The regent's order. — A regent is a person appointed to 
act for a king in his infancy, in his absence from his king- 
dom, and during his illness. 

Who came to gather in black mail. — The Scotts did not 
certainly know who were approaching their domain, it might 
be some lawless men of the country who were coming to 
carry off cattle, and such things as they could find, yet who 
might be prevented from doing this violence by money dis- 
tributed among them. This bribe for refraining from rob- 
bery was called black mail. 

Tliis disorderly and perilous state of society exists no 
longer. The region once disturbed in this manner is now 
in security and prosperity. This change is sweetly de- 
scribed in the poem from which the succeeding verses are 
extracted : 



168 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Sweet Te%'iot ! on thy silver tide 

The glaring bale-fires blaze no more ; 
No longer steel-clad warriors ride 

Along thy wild and willowed shore; 
Where'er thou wind'st by dale or hill 
All, all is peaceful, all is still, 

As if thy waves, since time was born, 
Since first they rolled their way to Tweed, 
Had only heard the shepherd's reed. 

Nor startled at the bugle-horn. 

Unlike the tide of human time. 

Which, though it change in ceaseless flow. 
Retains each grief, retains each crime. 

Its earliest course was doomed to know ; 
And darker as it downward bears. 
Is stained with past and present tears. 



LORD SURREY. 

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, was the son of a Duke 
of Norfolk, an English nobleman. Lord Sui-rey was born 
in England about the year 1516. He \v£s educated in the 
fashion of that age for young persons of his elevated rank. 
According to a writer of the time " they began early with 
languages and manners ; from ten or twelve were taught 
music and dancing, and to ' speak of gentleness ;' (to con- 
verse like gentlemen) ; then scoured the fields as sportsmen ; 
at sixteen were practised in mock battles — jousting, and 
breaking and riding the war-horse ; and at seventeen or 
eighteen were reckoned fit to enter the world, and be en- 
trusted with the duties of men." 

Lord Surrey was highly accomplished, and a writer of 
poetry. His poetry is now only read by those students 
who take pleasure in reviving what is old and obsolete, and 
in tracing the past progress of English literature. Surrey 
spent his short life chiefly in the court of Heiuy the VllI, 
or in the military service in France. His genius and accom- 
plishments made him enemies. The unsettled state of laws, 



SUKREY. 169 

and the despotism of the royal authority at that period in 
England, made it easy for cruel and unprincipled men in 
high stations to ruin those they hated, and to such men, 
Lord Surrey fell a victim. 

The circumstances of Surrey's death, are not very pre- 
cisely known, but he was falsely accused of treason, (a pro- 
ject against the government of his country,) and in the 
thirty-first year of his age was sentenced to death and 
publicly beheaded. The king, being near his end, and 
enfeebled in mind, gave his sanction to this vile measure. 

" Thus was cut off, gallant and guiltless, the most accom- 
plished man of his age." 

lovely to the last : 



Extinguished, not decayed. 

This melancholy fact affords a clear inference of the value 
of a wise civil government, founded in the rights of all men. 
A young person who should now read the frivolous preten- 
ces which brought Lord Surrey to the block, ought to feel 
his heart glow with gratitude to Providence, that he lives 
imder political institutions, which forbid the shedding of 
blood except for the worst crimes ; and he ought to make 
himself worthy of that personal safety and liberty which 
when they bestow the privileges of a good citizen, require 
of him all the duties of one. 

Surrey's character and fate are so interesting that many 
fictions have been composed upon his history. One of these 
is, that he loved a beautiful English lady named Geraldine 
— that he travelled in Italy and Germany, and in order to 
obtain some intelligence of the Lady Geraldine while he 
was on the continent of Europe, that he repaired to a cer- 
tnin necromancer for information. The leputed name of 
that fortune-teller, as we call such impostors, was Cornelius 
Agrippa. According to this fable, Agrippa showed Lord 
Surrey the figure of his absent lady in a mirror. She was 
seen by him reclining on a couch and reading one of his 
sonnets. To complete this story it was further asserted, 
that Lord Surrey was just married to Geraldine when he 
was torn from her and put to death. 

Towards the end of Sir Walter Scott's Lay of the Last 
Minstrel, a marriage feast is described. — The time in which 
the circumstances related in the poem are supposed to 
15 



170 I'OF. TRV FOR SCHOOLS. 

happen, is soon after the death of Surre}\ One of the 
entertainments at feasts, then in fashion, was the musical 
recitation of poetry, in honour of beautiful ladies and true 
knights. At the marriage feast alkided to, Fitztraver, a 
favorite Minstrel of Lord Surrey, is supposed to be present, 
and to relate the fabled vision of his unhappy master. 

surrey's vision. 

As ended Albert's simple lay, 

Arose a bard of loftier port ; 
For sonnet, rhyme and roundelay, 

Renowned in haughty Henry's court ; 
There hung thy harp, unrivalled long, 
Fitztraver of the silver song ! 

The gentle Surrey loved his lyre — 
Who has not heard of Surrey's fame ! 

His was the Hero's soul of fire, 

And his the bard's immortal name. 
And his was love, exalted high 
By all the glow of chivalry. 

They sought together, climes afar, 

And oft, within some olive grove. 
When evening came, with twinkling star, 

They sung of Surrey's absent love. 
His step the Italian peasant staid. 

And deemed that spirits from on high. 
Round where some hermit saint was laid, 

Were breathing heavenly melody ; 
So sweet did harp and voice combine. 
To praise the name of Geraldine. 

Fitztraver ! what tongue may say 
The pangs thy faithful bosom knew. 

When Surrey, of the deatliless lay. 
Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew ! 

'Twas All-soul's eve, and Suri-ey's heart beat high : 
He heard the midnight bell witli anxious start. 

Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh. 
When wise Cornelius promised by his art, 

To show to him the ladve of his heart, 



1 



STTRRET, l7l 

Albeit betwixt tbem roared tbe ocean gTim ; 
Yet so the sage had hight to play his part, 

That he should see her form in life and limb, 
And mark, if still she loved, and still she thought of him. 

Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye, 

To which the wizard led the i^allant Knight 
Save that before a mirror, huge and high, 

A hallowed taper shed a glimmering light 
On mystic implements of magic might ; 

On cross, and character, and talisman, 
And almagest, and altar, — nothing bright; 

For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan, 
As watchlight by the bed of some departing man. 

But soon within that mirror huge and high, 

Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam ; 
And forms upon its breast the earl 'gan spy. 

Cloudy and indistinct as feverish dream; 
Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem 

To form a lordly, and a lofty room, 
Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam. 

Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom, 
And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in gloom. 

Fair all the pageant — but how passing fair 

The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind ! 
O'er her white bosom strayed her hazel hair, 

Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined ; 
All in her night-robe loose she lay reclined, 

And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine 
Some strain that seemed her inmost soul to find : — 

That favored strain was Surrey's raptured line. 
That fair and lovely form the Ladye Geraldine. 

Magic is a false art — a pretension of cunning men 
live among the ignorant to impose upon the latter, but 
some men, wise in other respects, have believed in this 
deception. The magicians of Egypt are mentioned in the 
Bible. In some countries, persons called magicians have 
been really learned, and others, less informed, have 
believed them to be endowed with the knowledge of future 
events, and able to change their own appearance, or to 
transform one substance into another, as had to gold, (fee. 



172 roETur for schools. 

To have such abilities, would be to possess supernatural 
poivcrs — powers greater than other men. No such ability 
has been conferred upon men. 

Room of Gramarye. Gramarye means magic. The 
talisman and abnagest, were certain instruments which the 
magicians pretended to employ when they practised their 
art. The almagest was a book of astrology. 

CONSTANCE DE BEVERLY. 

"The Catholic religion," says Madame de Stael, "has 
taken up the inheritance of Paganism every where." She 
means that ceremonies, images and institutions, in use 
among the Pagans of Rome, were adopted by Christians 
of that country, and of that form of religion which origi- 
nated there. The statues of Jupiter and Apollo had 
their heads displaced that they might receive those of St. 
Paul and St. Peter, and religious orders of the exploded 
faith were remodeled under the new. One instance of this 
may be found by comparing the order of the Vestal virgins 
of ancient Rome, with those of the convents of Christian 
females. 

In Rome the people worshipped the goddess Vesta, or 
Fire, — originally, perhaps, because that element is so 
happily diffused through all nature, that it is the active 
agent which produces almost all the sensible changes in 
every thing, is one of the essential principles of life, and 
the indispensable power which ministers in the operation 
of all arts, and to the enjoyment of all comforts. 

The servants of Vesta were young females from noble 
families ; they were neither given nor persuaded to this 
ministry, but taken. The Pontifex Maximus, the chief 
priest among the Romans, when he saw a young girl who 
pleased him, took her by the hand, and declaring that she 
was appointed a vestal virgin, devoted her to the education 
ordained for this order, and her parents acquiesced with 
readiness, believing that they gave up their child to a holy 
vocation. 

The vestal virgins were few in number ; their principal 
duty was to keep alive the sacred fire, which was kindled 
from the rays of the sun. The elder educated the younger 
ones, and tliey all spent their time in performing ceremo- 
nies now forgotten, but to which ignorance and superstition 



SCOTT. 1Y3 

then attached a false importance. So much were the 
priestesses of Vesta honored, that when they went abroad, 
the magistrates of Rome gave place to them. But if they 
dared to break their vows they were buried alive. 

The frightful punishment of burying alive has not been 
confined to the vestals of ancient Rome. Convents are 
houses of religious retirement, where women, and some- 
times men, agree to spend their lives in the service of the 
Roman Catholic faith. 

The nuns, the female inhabitants of convents, often lead 
useful, benevolent, and happy lives, but they formerly 
adhered to very severe regulations. The governess, or 
mistress of a convent, sometimes called the Abbess, and 
sometimes the Prioress, was made a judge in cases of 
crimes committed by the nuns ; and the laws of these 
establishments ordered, if a nun eloped from a convent 
with the connivance of any man she loved, that when she 
should afterwards be seized, like the faithless vestals of 
Rome, she should be buried, warm with life, in a prema- 
ture grave. 

A most affecting representation of such a cruel sacrifice, 
is found in the second Canto of Sir Walter Scott's Mar- 
raion. Constance de Beverly, a nun in the abbey of Fon- 
tevraud, was enticed from her convent by Lord Marmion. 
For some time after this, the wealth of the Lady Clare 
tempted Marmion to forsake Constance, and to seek Clara 
for his bride. Clara was engaged to marry young De 
Wilton, but Marmion contrived to bring some disgrace 
upon De Wilton, and to engage his master, the king of 
England, to command that Clara should accept Marmion 
as her husband. Clara fled from these importunities to 
the convent of Whitby, and while she was in that asylum, 
Constance, resolving that none but herself should possess 
Lord Marmion, conspired with a treacherous monk to 
poison Clara. 

This guilty design was discovered, and its plotters were 
punished according to the laws of that age. The offence 
of Constance was double, and rendered her liable to the 
death she afterwards suffered. An "ancient Man," the 
Abbot of Saint Cuthbert, the Abbess of Saint Hilda, and 
the Prioress of Tynemouth, sat in judgment upon these 
unhappy criminals, in a deep vault far beneath the surface 
of the earth. 

15* 



174 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Before them stood a guilty pair ; 
But though an equal fate they share, 
Yet one alone deserves our care. 
Her sex a page's dress belied ; 
The cloak and doublet loosely tied, 
Obscured her charms but could not hide. 
Her cap down o'er her face she drew; 

And on her doublet breast 
She tried to hide the badge of blue. 

Lord Marmion's falcon crest. 
But at the Prioress' command, 
A monk undid the silken band 

That tied her tresses fair. 
And raised the bonnet from her head. 
And down her slender form they spread 

In ringlets rich and rare, 
Constance de Beverly they know 
Sister professed of Fontevraud,* 
Whom the church numbered with the dead 
For broken vows and convent fled. 

When thus her face was given to view, 

(Although so pallid was her hue. 

It did a ghastly contrast bear 

To those bright ringlets glistering fair,) 

Her look composed, and steady eye. 

Bespoke a matchless constancy ; 

And there she stood, so calm and pale 

But that her breathing did not fail, 

And motion slight of eye and head. 

And of her bosom, warranted 

That neither life nor pulse she lacks. 

You might have thought a form of wax, 

Wrought to the very sense was there, 

So still she was, so pale, so fair. 

Her comrade was a sordid soul — 
****** 

This wretch was clad in frock and cowl, 
And shamed not loud to moan and howl, 
His body on the floor to dash, 
And crouch like hound beneath the lash: 
• Pronounced Fontevro. 



SCOTT. Vis 

While his mute partner standing near. 

Waited her doom without a tear. 

Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek 

Well might her paleness terror speak ! 

For there were seen in that dark wall. 

Two niches, narrow, deep, and tall. 

Who enters at such grisly door, 

Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more. 

In each a slender meal was laid 

Of roots, of water, and of bread. 

By each in Benedictine dress 

Two haggard monks stood motionless ; 

Who, holding high a blazing torch. 

Showed the grim entrance of the porch. 

Reflecting back the smoky beam, 

The daik red walls and arches gleam. 

Hewn stones and cement were displayed. 

And building tools in order laid. 
****** 

And now that blind old abbot rose, 

To speak the chapter's doom 
On those the walls weie to enclose 

Alive within the tomb ; 

But stopped, because that woful maid, 

Gathering her powers, to speak essayed. 

Twice she essayed, and twice in vain. 

Her accents might no utterance gain ; 

Nought but imperfect murmurs slip 

From her convulsed and quivering lip ; 
****** 

At length an effort sent apart 

The blood that curdled to her heart. 

And light came to her eye, 
And color dawned upon her cheek 
A hectic and a fluttered streak 
Like that left on the Cheviot peak, 

By autumn's stormy sky ; 
And when her silence broke at length. 
Still as she spoke she gathered strength, 

And armed herself to bear. — 
It was a fearful sight to see 
Such high resolve and constancy, 

In form so soft and fair. 



176 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS* 

I speak not to implore your grace, 
Well know I for one minute's space 

Successless might I sue : 
Nor do I speak your prayers to gain ; 
For if a death of lingering pain, 
To cleanse my sins be penance vain, 

Vain are your masses too. — 
I listened to a traitor's tale, 
I left the convent and the veil, 
For three long years I bowed my prids 
A horse-boy in his train to ride. 

* * * * 

He saw young Clara's face more fair. 
And knew her of broad lands the heir, 
Forgot his vows, his faith forswore, 
And Constance was beloved no more, 
'Tis an old tale and often told ; 

But did my fate and wish agree, 
Ne'er had been read, in story old. 
Of maiden true, betrayed for gold, 

That loved or was avenged like me, 

* * * * 

This caitiff monk, for gold, did swear 
He would to Whitby's shrine repair. 
And by his drugs, m}^ rival fair 
A saint in heaven should be. 
But ill the dastard kept his oath. 
Whose cowardice has undone us both. 
* * * * 

Now men of death work forth your will, 
For I can suffer and be still ; 
And come he slow or come he fast. 
It is but death who comes at last. 

Yet dread me from my living tomb. 
Ye vassal slaves of bloody Home ; 
If Marmion's late remorse should wake 
Full soon such vengeance would he take 
That you should wish the fiery Dane 
Had rather been your guest again. 
Behind a darker hour ascends ! 
The altars quake, ike crosier bends, 



SCOTT. 

The ire of a despotic king 
Rides forth upon destruction's wing ; 
Then shall these vaults, so large and deep, 
Burst open to the sea-wind's sweep ; 
Some traveller then shall find my bones. 
Whitening amid disjointed stones. 
And, ignorant of priests' cruelty, 
Marvel such relics here should be. 

Fixed was her look and stern her air ; 
Back from her shoulders streamed her hair ; 
The locks that wont her brow to shade. 
Stood up erectly from her head ; 
Her figure seemed to rise more high. 
Her voice, despair's wild energy 
Had given a tone of prophecy. 
Appalled the astonished conclave sate. 
With stupid eyes, the men of fate 
Gazed on the light inspired form. 
And listened for the avenging storm ; 
The judges felt the victim's dread. 
No hand was moved, no word was said. 
Till thus the Abbot's doom was given. 
Raising his sightless balls to heaven : 
'Sister, let thy sorrows cease; 
Sinful brother, part in peace !" 

From that dire dungeon, place of doom. 

Of execution too, and tomb, 
Paced forth the judges three. 
Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell 
The butcher- work that there befel, 
When they had glided from the cell 
Of sin and misery. 

An hundred winding steps convey 
That conclave to the upper day; 
But, ere they breathed the fresher air. 
They heard the shriekings of despair, 

And many a stifled groan: 
With speed their upward way they take, 
(Such speed as age and fear can make,) 
And crossed themselves for terror's sake. 

As hurrying tottering on. 



Ilk 



17S POETRr FOR SCHOOLS, 

Even in the vesper's heavenly tone, 

They seemed to hear a dying groan. 

And bade the passing knell to toll 

For welfare of a parting soul. 

Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, 

Northumbrian rocks in answer rung ; 

To Warkworth cell the echoes rolled, 

His beads the wakeful hermit told ; 

The Bamborough peasant raised his head. 

But slept ere half a prayer he said, 

So far was heard the mighty knell, 

The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, 

Spread his broad nostrils to the wind, 

Listed before, aside, behind ; 

Then couched him down beside the hind. 

And quaked among the mountain fern, 

To hear that sound so dull and stern. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Two haggard monks in this awful and melancholy 
picture are arrayed in " Benedictine dress." The different 
orders of monks first originated in some religious'men who 
retired from all business, and collected about them others 
disposed like themselves. These persons lived and asso- 
ciated together, possessed the same property, and followed 
nearly the same occupations. Those who joined their 
society, one after another, and followed them, generation 
after generation, took the name of the first founder of the 
society. This person was afterwards called a Saint. Saint 
Benedict, Saint Francis, Saint Dominick, were distin- 
guished Fathers of the religious orders in the Catholic 
Church. The words Benedictine, Franciscan and Domini- 
can, signify persons severally attached to the orders or 
institutions of these priests. 

Among different orders of the Catholic priesthood, the 
Jesuits — the order of Jesus — is the most extraordinary. 
The history of the Jesuits and of their founder, Ignatius 
Loyola, is highly interesting to those who are sufficiently 
matured and experienced to understand the effects pro- 
duced by a great genius in designing great things, and the 
still greater results which numbers of men acting with 
untiring energy and united wills, can accomplish. 



SCOTT. 179 

Constance first threatens her judges with the vengeance 
of Marmion, when "late remorse" should revive his affec- 
tion for her ; and her voice, taking the " tone of prophecy," 
foretold that yet a " darker hour" than his provoked spirit 
could hasten, awaited them in " the ire of a despotic 
King." This despotic King was Henry the VIII. 

When the Romans possessed Britain they doubtless 
brought the intelligence of Christianity with them, and 
Christian converts must have been made in Britain, but 
how much this Christianity prevailed is not now known. 
The Saxon masters of Britain, who succeeded the Romans, 
brought with them the tyranny of ignorance and of physi- 
cal power; and Christianity was so little regarded after 
the time of the Saxon domination, that the Popes of Rome 
considered Britain among the waste places of Heathenism, 
and sent thither one of the first Christian missions upon 
record. 

About the year 59G, Pope Gregory L sent St. Augus- 
tine, or Austin, with forty monks, to instruct the people 
of Britain in the Christian religion. England and Wales 
at that time were divided into different principalities. 
Ethelred, king of Kent, was among the first proselytes of 
Augustine, and became an important aid to his purposes. 
Augustine was a spiritual governor as well as teacher, and 
baptized converts, and established churches and ministers 
from Kent to Northumberland ; he also penetrated into 
Wales, where he found a form of Christianity more simple 
than the Romish faith. It had been learned in the second 
century after Christ, from the Romans, and was still 
cherished. 

Augustine was without humility, and expected to be 
acknowledged by all the inhabitants of Britain, as head of 
the English church under the Pope. The Welsh, not 
comprehending the authority of the Pope and Saint Austin, 
thought fit to reject it, and the saint denounced vengeance 
upon them. A King of Northumberland took upon him- 
self the accomplishment of this threat, and without afford- 
ing them time for defence, slaughtered about twelve hun- 
dred of the Welsh Christians. Fear, as well as confi- 
dence, served to establish the Catholic religion, which 
after the sixth century was acknowledged in Britain by 
the Kings and the people. 

From this time large grants and gifts enriched and 



180 FOETRr FOR SCHOOLS. 

multiplied monasteries or religious houses, and they con- 
tinued to increase in power and wealth for nearly a thou- 
sand years. Increase of their power, however, received 
several checks. Reformers at different times lifted up 
their voices. Wickliffe and Lord Cobham declared for 
religious liberty. King Henry II. and Edward III. re- 
strained ecclesiastical power, and the scriptures were 
translated. 

At the beginning of the sixteenth century. Pope Leo X. 
was engaged in building that wonder of modern architec- 
ture, St. Peter's church at Rome, and in order to obtain 
money for the accomplishment of that expensive under- 
taking, he gave a commission to certain Catholic Priests 
to sell Indulgences, and send the profits to him at Rome. 
These Indulgences were privileges to commit actions forbid- 
den by the laws and the Gospel, without liability to pun- 
ishment in this world, or another. The impossibility that 
any human sovereign could discharge his fellowmen from 
the laws of his Maker, made multitudes of almost all 
Catholic countries distrust the authority of the Pope, and 
made the religious establishments less venerated in all the 
countries which afterwards became Protestant. 

Henry VIII. adhered to the ceremonies of Popery all 
his life, but he was a most powerful enemy to the Pope's 
authority in Britain. Henry caused himself to be declared 
by the parliatnent the Protector and independent head of 
the church of England. In virtue of this authority, Henry 
caused a visitation to be made to all the convents, and a 
report of their condition to be published. This account, 
perhaps with too little regard to truth, gave a most detes- 
table character to the monasteries, so that the public mind 
was easily reconciled to their suppression. Not long after 
the visitation, three hundred and seventy-six houses were 
suppressed, and the lands and other property attached 
to them were confiscated, or applied by the King to 
public uses. 

The new appropriation of the wealth of the Church 
did not stop here, for the number of religious houses of 
different kinds that were suppressed has been estimated 
to be six hundred and fortv-three convents, and more than 
two thousand small establishments for worship, education, 
and charity. It is impossible that much distress should 
not have attended such a sweeping remedy of real or 



SCOTT. 181 

supposed abuses, and well might Constance give that 
lively personification of the monarch's anger which led 
to these illustrations. 

The altars quake, the crosier bends. The altars which 
Catholic superstition has erected shall be shaken. The 
Crosier is a staff surmounted by a cross. It was carried 
by Catholic bishops as a symbol of ecclesiastical power — 
those who bore it might dread the time when it should be 
bent in subjection to the reformed religion. 

LADY OF THE LAKE. 

This beautiful tale is a more universal favorite than any 
other of Sir Walter Scott's. It is exquisitely descriptive, 
and so peculiarly fascinating, that a person who takes it up 
for the first time, is seldom known to leave it till the whole 
is read. The first Canto of the Lady of the Lake describes 
a chase. Hunting is an occupation necessary to the savage 
state, and in civilized countries opulent men of leisure love 
to excite their spirits by the sports of tlie field. To hunt 
the boar, the stag, and the fox, besides other animals, in 
many countries is considered by active and adventurous 
persons as among the most animating pleasures of life. 

The Chase in the Lady of the Lake describes a hunt 
of the King of Scotland, which ended in the loss of the 
game, and the death of King James's fine horse. After 
the loss of his horse, the King expects to sleep in the open 
air ; but the state of the country made it dangerous, and 
he wandered in quest of a safe place, until he came full in 
view of Loch-Katrine, a beautifully wooded lake em- 
bosomed in profound solitude. In the lake lie several 
islands — one of them is the retreat of an outlaw, Roderick 
Dhu, and also the asylum of Lord Douglas and his 
daughter Ellen. Lord Douglas was under the displeasure 
of the King, and had taken refuge with his kinsman. In 
hope to summon some straggler of his train, the King 
sounds his bugle ; it was heard by Ellen Douglas, who 
was navigating her fairy frigate on the lake, — and believ- 
ing she replied to her father or to Malcolm Greeme, a wel- 
come visitor to her retreat, she answers the stranger, who 
soon explains his circumstances. Ellen, in the generous 
confidence and hospitality of that age, takes him into the 
shallop. He rows to the island, and is made welcome 
to the rustic habitation of Dame Margaret, the lady of 
16 



182 POETRY FOK SCHOOLS. 

Clan Alpine, and the mother of Roderick. The Douglas 
and the Chieftain are both absent, and the stranger 
Knight announces himself in the cliaracter of James Fitz- 
James, [Fitz- James, son of James.) The next morning 
the Knight leaves the island under safe conduct. 

THE CHASE. 

Tlie stag at eve had drunk his fill. 
When danced the moon on Monan's rill. 
And deep his midnight lair had made 
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ; 
But, when the sun his beacon red 
Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head, 
The deep-mouthed blood-hound's heavy bay 
Resounded up the rocky way. 
And faint, from farther distance borne. 
Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 
As chief who hears his warder call, 
*To arms! the foemen storm the wall,' — 
The antlered monarch of the waste 
Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. 
But, ere his fleet career he took, 
The dew-drops from his flank he shook ; 
Like crested leader proud and high. 
Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky ; 
A moment gazed adown the dale, 
A moment snuff"ed the tainted gale, 
A moment listened to the cry, 
That thickened as the chase drew nigh ; 
Then, as the headmost foes appeared, 
With one brave bound the copse he cleared. 
And stretching forward free and far, 
Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. 

Yelled on the view the opening pack. 
Rock, glen, and cavern, paid them back ; 
To many a mingled sound at once 
The awakened mountains gave response. 
An hundred dogs bayed deep and strong, 
Clattered an hundred steeds along. 
Their peal the merry horns rung out ; 
An hundred voices joined the shout ; 



183 



With hark, and whoop, and wild halloo 
No rest Benvoirlich's echo knew. 
Far from the tumult fled the roe, 
Close in the covert cowered the doe. 
The falcon from her earn on high, 
Cast on the rout a wondering eye, 
Till far beyond her piercing ken 
The hurricane had swept the glen. 
Faint, and more faint, its falling din 
Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn. 
And silence settled wide and still, 
On the lone wood and mighty hill. 
Less loud the sounds of sylvan war 
Disturbed the heights of Uara-Var, 
And roused the cavern, where 'tis told 
A giant made his den of old ; 
For ere that steep ascent was won. 
High in his pathway hung the sun, 
And many a gallant, stayed perforce, 
Was fain to breathe his faltering horse; 
And of the trackers of the deer 
Scarce half the lessening pack was near ; 
So shrewdly on the mountain side, 
Had the bold burst their mettle tried. 

The noble stag was pausing now 
Upon the mountain's southern brow, 
Where broad extended far beneath, 
The varied realms of fair Monteith. 
With anxious eye he wandered o'er 
Mountain and meadow, moss and moor, 
And pondered refuge from his toil, 
By far Lochard or Aberfoyle. 
But nearer was the copse-wood gray. 
That waved and wept on Loch Achray, 
And mingled with the pine trees blue, 
On the bold cliffs of Ben-venue. 
Fresh vigor with the hope returned. 
With flying foot the heath he spurned. 
Held westward with unwearied race, 
And left behind the panting chase. 

'T were long to tell what steeds gave o'er. 
As swept the hunt through Cambus-moor ; 



184 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

What reins were tightened in despair, 
When rose Benledi's ridge in air ; 
Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath. 
Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith. — 
For twice, that day from shore to shore. 
The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er. 
Few were the stratrtrjers, following far, 
That reached the lake of Vennachar : 
And when the Brigg of Turk was won, 
The headmost horseman rode alone. 

Alone, but with unbated zeal, 

That horseman plied the scourge and steel : 

For, jaded now, and spent with toil, 

Embossed with foam and dark with soil. 

While every gasp with sobs he drew, 

The laborinp- staff strained full in view. 

Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed, 

Unmatched for courage, breath and speed. 

Fast on his flying traces came. 

And all but won that desperate game ; 

For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch 

Vindictive toiled the blood-hounds staunch j 

Nor nearer might the dogs attain. 

Nor farther might the quarry strain. 

Thus up the margin of the lake, 

Between the precipice and brake 

O'er stock and rock their race they take. 

The hunter marked that mountain high. 
The lone lake's western boundary, 
And deemed the stag must turn to bay, 
Where that huge rampart barred the way j 
Already glorying in the prize. 
Measured his antlers with his eyes ; 
For the death-wound and death halloo, 
Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew 
The wily quarry shunned the shock, 
And turned him from the opposing rock ; 
Then, dashing down a darksome glen. 
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken. 
In the deep Trosach's wildest nook 
His solitary refuge took. 



185 



Tliere whil-e, close couched, the thicket shed 
Cold dews and wild tiowers on his head. 
He heard the bafiled dogs in vain 
Rave through the hollow pass amain. 
Chiding the rocks that yelled again. 

Close on the hounds the hunter came. 
To cheer them on the vanished game ; 
But stumbling in the rugged dell, 
The gallant horse exhausted fell. 
The impatient rider strove in vain 
To rouse him with the spur and rein, 
For the good steed, his labors o'er, 
Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no more; 
Then touched with pity and remorse, 
He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse. 
' I little thought when first thy rein 
I slacked upon the banks of Seine, 
That highland eagle e'er should feed 
On thy fleet limbs, my gallant steed ! 
Wo worth the chase, wo worth the day. 
That cost thy life, my gallant gray!' 

ELLEN DOUGLAS. 

But scarce again his horn he wound. 

When lo ! forth starting at the sound. 

From underneath an aged oak, 

That slanted from the islet rock, 

A damsel, guider of its way, 

A little skiff shot to the bay. 

That round the promontory steep. 

Led its deep line in graceful sweep. 

Eddying in almost viewless wave. 

The weeping willow twig to lave. 

And kiss with whispering sound and slow. 

The beach of pebbles bright as snow. 

The boat had touched the silver strand, 

Just as the hunter left his stand, 

And stood concealed amid the brake. 

To view this Lady of the Lake. 

The maiden paused, as if again 

She thought lo catch the distant strain. 



186 POETRT FOR SCHOOLS, 

With head v; praised, and look intent, 
And eye and ear attentive bent, 
And locks flung back, and lips apart 
Like monument of Grecian art. 
In listening mood she seemed to stand. 
The guardian Naiad of the strand. 

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace 

A Nymph, a Naiad, or a grace, 

Of finer form, or lovelier face ! 

What though the sun with ardent frown, 

Had slightly tinged her cheek witli brown, — • 

The sportive toil, which, short and light, 

Had dyed her glowing hue so bright:, 

Served too in hastier swells to show. 

Short glimpses of a breast of snow ; 

What though no rule of courtly grace 

To measured mood had trained her pace, — 

A foot more Hght, a step more true, 

Never from the heath-flower dashed the dew; 

Even the slight hare-bell raised its head. 

Elastic from her airy tread ; 

What though upon her speech there hung 

The accents of the mountain tongue, — 

Those silver sounds so soft, so dear 

The listener held his breath to hear. 

A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid ; 
Her satin snood, her silken plaid. 
Her golden brooch, such birth betray'd. 
And seldom was a snood amid 
Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid. 
Whose glossy black to shame might bring 
The plumage of the raven's wing ; 
And seldom o'er a bieast so fair 
Mantled a phiid with modest care. 
And never brooch the folds combined 
Above a heart more good and kind. 
Her kindness and lier worth to spy, 
You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ; 
Not Katrine, in her mirror blue. 
Gives back the shaggy banks more true. 
Than every free-born glance confessed 
The guileless movements of her breast ; 



18Y 



Whether joy danced in her dark eye, 
Or wo or pity chiimed a sigh, 
Or fihal love was glowing there, 
Or meek devotion poured a prayer, 
Or tale of injury called forth 
The indignant spirit of the north. 

Impatient of the silent horn, 

Now on the gale her voice was borne : — 

'Father!' she cried ; the rocks around 
Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 
A while she paused, no answer came 

' Malcolm, was thine the blast V the name 
Less resolutely uttered fell, 
The echoes could not catch the swell. 

*A stranger I,' the huntsman said, 
Advancing from the hazel shade. 
The maid alarmed, with hasty oar. 
Pushed her light shallop from the shore. 
And when a space was gained between. 
Closer she drew her bosom's screen ; 
(So forth the startled swan would swing! 
So turn to prune his ruiBed wing.) 
Then safe, though fluttered and amazed, 
She paused, and on tlie stranger gazed. 
Not his the form, nor his the eye, 
That youthful maidens wont to fly 

On his bold visage middle age 

Had slightly pressed its signet sage. 

Yet had not quenched the open truth, 

And fiery vehemence of youth ; 

Forward and frolic glee was there, 

The will to do, the soul to dare. 

The sparkling glance soon blown to fire. 

Of hasty love, or headlong ire. 

His limbs were cast in manly mould, 

For hardy sports, or contest bold ; 

And though in peaceful garb arrayed, 

And weaponless, except his blade, 

His stately mien as well implied 

A higli-born heart, a martial pride. 

As if a baron's crest he wore. 

And sheathed in armor trod the shore. 



POETRY FOR vS C H O O L 8 . 

Slighting the petty need he showed, 

He told of his benighted road ; 

His ready speech flowed fair and free, 

In phrase of gentlest courtesy ; 

Yet seemed that tone and gesture bland, 

Less used to sue than to command. 

A while the maid the stranger eyed, 
And, re-assured at last replied, 
That highland halls were open still 
To wildered wanderers of the hill. 

' Nor think you unexpected come 
To yon lone isle, our desert home ; 
Before the heath had lost the dew. 
This morn a couch was pulled for you , 
On yonder mountain's purple head 
Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled, 
And our broad nets have swept the mere, 
To furnish forth your evening cheer.' 

♦Now, by the rood, my lovely maid, 
Your courtesy has erred,' he said ; 

* No right have I to claim, misplaced, 
The welcome of expected guest. 

A wanderer here, by fortune tost. 
My way, my friends, my courser lost, 
I ne'er before, believe me, fair, 
Have ever drawn your mountain air, 
Till on this lake's romantic str.and, 
I found a fay in fairy land.' 

* I well believe,' the maid replied. 

As her light skiff approached the side, 
' I well believe that ne'er before 
Your foot has trod Loch-Katrine shore ; 
But yet, as far as yesternight, 
Old Allan-bane foretold your plight, — 
A gray-haired sire, whose eye intent, 
Was on the visioned future bent. 
He saw your steed, a dappled gray. 
Lie dead beneath the birchen way ; 
Painted exact your form and mien. 
Your hunting suit of Lincoln groen. 



SCOTT. 189 

Tliat tasseled horn so gaily gilt, 
That falchion's crooked blade and hilt. 
That cap with heron's plumage trim, 
And yon two hounds so dark and grira, 
He bade that all should ready be. 
To grace a guest of fair degree ; 
But light I held his prophecy, 
And deemed it was my father's horn. 
Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne.' 

The stranger smiled : ' Since to your home 

A destined errant-knight I come, 

Announced by prophet sooth and old, 

Doomed, doubtless, for achievement bold, 

I'll lightly front each high emprize, 

For one kind glance of those bright eyes ; 

Permit me, first, the task, to guide 

Your fair)^ frigate o'er the tide.' 

The maid, with smiles suppressed and sly. 

The toil unwonted saw him try ; 

For seldom sure, if e'er before. 

His noble hand had grasped an oar , 

Yet with main strength his strokes he drew 

And over the lake the shallop flew ; 

With heads erect, and whimpering cry, 

The hounds behind their passage ply. 

Nor frequent does the bright oar break 

The darkening mirror of the lake. 

Until the rocky isle they reach, 

And moor their shallop on the beach. 

The stranger viewed the shore around ; 
'T was all so close with copse- wood bound, 
Nor track nor pathway might declare 
That human foot frequented there. 
Until the mountain maiden showed 
A clambering unsuspected road, 
That winded through the tangled screen, 
And opened on a narrow green. 
Here, for retreat in dangerous hour. 
Some chief had framed a rustic bower. 

Tt was a lodge of ample size, 

But strange of structure and device. 



wo POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Due westward, fronting to the green, 
A rural portico was seen, 
Aloft on native pillars borne, 
Of mountain fir with bark vinshorn, 
Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine 
The ivy and Idsean vine, 
The clematis, the favored flower. 
Which boasts the name of virgin-bower; 
And every hardy plant could bear 
Loch-Katrine's keen and searching air. 
An instant in the porch she stayed. 
And gaily to the stranger said, 

* On heaven and on thy lady call. 
And enter the enchanted hall.' 

* My hope, my heaven, my trust must be. 
My gentle guide, in following thee.' 



Rokeby is an English story ; the scene is in the north of 
England, and the date 1644. The most interesting cha- 
racters in Rokeby, are Redmond O'Neale, a young Irishman 
trained by the lord of Rokeby, and Matilda, the only 
daughter of Rokeby. 

MATILDA. 

Wreathed in its dark brown rings, her hair 
Half hid Matilda's forehead fair. 
Half hid and half revealed to view 
Her full dark eye of hazel hue. 
The rose, with faint and feeble streak. 
So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek, 
That you had said her hue was pale, 
But if she faced the summer gale. 
Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved. 
Or heard the praise of those she loved. 
Or when of interest was expressed 
Aught that waked feeling in her breast, 
Tlie mantling blood in ready play 
Rivalled the blush of rising day. 

There was a soft and pensive grace, 
A c;ist of thought upon her face, 



SCOTT. 191 

Tliat suited well the forehead high, 
The eye-lash dark, and downcast eyej 
Tlie mild expression spoke a mind 
In duty firm, composed, resigned ; — • 
'T was that which Roman art has given. 
To mark their maiden queen of heaven. 
In hours of sport, that mood gave way 
To Fancy's light and frolic play. 
And when the dance, or tale, or song, 
In harmless mirth sped time along. 
Full oft her doating sire would call 
His Maud the merriest of them all. 
But days of war, and civil crime. 
Allowed but ill such festal time, 
And her soft pensiveness of brow 
Had deepened into sadness now. 
And boding thoughts that she must part 
With a soft vision of her heart, — 
All lowered aroiuid the lovely maid. 
To darken her dejection's shade. 

Some years before the time of the poem of Rokeby, the 
Irish had rebelled against the English government in Ire- 
land, and the Earl of Essex was employed to crush the 
rebellion ; but O'Neale, a descendant of the ancient Irish 
princes, assimied the sovereignty of the province of Ulster, 
and for a while was acknowledged king. The author of the 
poem supposes that while O'Neale held out against the 
English, the Knight of Rokeby, with his confederate 
Mortham, was employed in the English military service in 
Ireland, and that falling into the power of O'Neale, they 
were treated with generosity and hospitality, and sent safe 
and unransomed home. On account of the friendship thus 
commenced, the grandson of Rokeby 's preserver, on the 
reverse of his fortune, was sent to Rokeby 's protection, was 
afterwards trained under his roof, and in due time married 
to his daughter Matilda. 

REDMOND o'nEALE. 

Years sped away. On Rokeby's head 
Some touch of early snow was shed ; 
Calm he enjoyed, by Greta's wave, 
The peace which James the peaceful gave, 



192 P U E T l{ Y F O II S C H O 1. S . 

While Morthani, far beyond tlie main, 
Waged his fierce wars on Indian Spain — , 
It chanced upon a wintry night, 
That whitened Stanemore's stormy height, 
The chase was o'er, the stag was Icilled, 
In Rokeby-hall the cups were filled. 
And, by the huge stone chimney sate 
The knight, in hospitable state. 
Moonless the sky, the hour was late, 
When a loud summons shook the gate. 
And sore for entrance and for aid 
A voice of foreign accent prayed. 
The porter answered to the call. 
And instant rushed into the hall 
A man, whose aspect and attire 
Startled the circle by the fire. 

His plaited hair in elf-locks spread 

Around his bare and matted head ; 

On leg and thigh, close stretched and trim. 

His vesture showed the sinewy hmb; 

In saffron dyed, a linen vest 

Was frequent folded round his breast ; 

A mantle long and loose he wore. 

Shaggy with ice, and stained with gore. 

He clasped a burthen to his heart, 
And, resting on a knotted dart ; 
The snow from hair and beard he shook, 
And round him gazed with wildered look ; 
Then up the hall, with staggering pace, 
He hastened by the blaze to place, 
Half hfeless from the bitter air, 
His load, a boy of beauty rare. 
To Rokeby, next, he louted low, 
Then stood erect his tale to show. 
With wild majestic port and tone. 
Like envo}^ of some barbarous tlirone. 
• Sir Richard, lord of Rokeby, hear ! 
Turlough O'Neale salutes thee dear ; 
He graces tliee, and to thy caie 
Young Redmond gives, his grandson fair. 
He bids thee bieed him as thy son. 
For Turlough's days of joy are done ; 



SCOTT. 193 

And other lords have seized his land, 
And faint and feeble is his hand, 
And all the glory of Tyrone 
Is like a morning vapor flown. 
To bind the duty on thy soul, 
He bids thee think on Erin's bowl ! 
If any wrong the young O'Neale, 
He bids thee think of Erin's steel. 
To Mortham first this charge was due, 
But, in his absence, honors you. — 
Now is my master's message by, 
And Ferraught will contented die.' — 

His look grew fixed, his cheek grew pale. 
He sunk when he had told his tale ; 
For, hid beneath his mantle wide, 
A mortal wound was in his side. 
Vain was all aid — in terror wild, 
And sorrow, screamed the orphan child. 
Poor Ferraught raised his wistful eyes. 
And faintly strove to soothe his cries ; 
All reckless of his dying pain. 
He blest, and blest him o'er again ! 
And kissed the little hands outspread. 
And kissed and crossed the infant head. 
And, in his native tongue and phrase. 
Prayed to each saint to watch his days ; 
Then all his strength together drew, 
The charge to Rokeby to renew ; 
When half was faltered from his breast. 
And half by dying signs expressed, 
'Bless the O'Neale!' he faintly said. 
And thus the faithful spirit fled. 

'T was long ere soothing might prevail 
Upon the child to end the tale : 
And then he said, that from his home 
His grandsiie had been forced to roam. 
Which had not been if Redmond's hand 
Had but had strength to draw the brand, 
The brand of Lenaugh More the Red 
That hung beside the gray wolf 's head. — 
'T was from his broken phrase descried. 
His foster-father was his guide, 
17 



194 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Who, in his charge, from Ulster bore 
Letters, and gifts a goodly store ; 
But ruffians met them in the wood, 
Ferraught in battle boldly stood, 
Till wounded and o'erpowered at length, 
And stripped of all, his failing strength 
Just bore him here — and then the child 
Renewed again his moaning wild. 

The tear, down childhood's cheek that flows, 
Is like the dew-drop on the rose ; 
When next the summer breeze comes by. 
And waves the bush, the flower is dry. 
Won by their care, the orphan child 
Soon on his new protectors smiled. 
With dimpled cheek and eyes so fair. 
Through his thick curls of flaxen hair. 
But blithest laughed that cheek and eye, 
When Rokeby's little maid was nigh : 
'T was his, with elder brother's pride, 
Matilda's tottering steps to guide ; 
His native lays in Irish tongue. 
To soothe her infant ear he sung, 
And primrose twined with daisy fair. 
To form a chaplet for her hair. 
By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's strand, 
The children still were hand in hand. 
And good Sir Richard smiling eyed 
The early knot so kindly tied. 

But summer months bring wilding shoot 
From bud to bloom, from bloom to fruit ; 
And years draw on our human span. 
From child to boy, from boy to man 
And soon in Rokeby's woods is seen 
A gallant boy in hunter's green. 
He loves to Avake the felon boar. 
In his dark haunt on Greta's shore. 
And loves against the deer so dun, 
To draw the shaft, or lift the gun ; 
Yet more he loves, in autumn prime. 
The hazel's spreading boughs to climb, 
And down its clustered stores to hail. 
Where young Matilda holds her veil. 



HOMER. 195 

And she, whose veil receives the shower, 

Is altered too, and knows her power ; 

Assumes a monitress's pride. 

Her Redmond's dangerous sports to chide, 

Yet listens still to hear him tell 

How the grim wild-boar fought and fell. 

How at his fall the hmj-le runjr, 

Till rock and green-wood answer flung; 

Then blesses her, that man can find 

A pastime of such savage kind ! 

But Redmond knew to weave his tale 

So well with praise of wood and dale. 

And knew so well each point to trace, 

Gives living interest to the chase. 

And knew so well o'er all to throw 

His spirit's wild romantic glow, 

That, while she blamed, and while she feared. 

She loved each venturous tale she heard. 

Oft, too, when drifted snow and rain 

To bower and hall their steps restrain. 

Together they explored the page 

Of glowing bard or gifted sage, 

Oft, placed the evening fire beside. 

The minstiel art alternate tried, 

While gladsome harp and lively lay 

Bade winter-niglit flit fast away ; 

Thus from their childhood blending still 

Their sport, their study, and their skill. 



HOMER 



Homer is usually styled the father of poetry. The oldest 
poet with whom we are acquainted, is Moses. — Moses' song, 
which may be found in Deuteronomy, chapter xxxii., is 
translated from the Hebrew, and is the most ancient speci- 
men of poctiy with which we are actiuainted. The proba- 
ble date of it is 1-490 years before Christ — five hundred 
years before Homer, the Greek poet. 



196 POKTRT FOR SCHOOLS. 



MOSES SONG. 

Give ear, ye heavens, and I will speak ; and hear, O 
earth, the words of my mouth. My doctrine shall drop as 
the rain, my speech sliall distil as the dew, as the small 
rain upon the tender herb, and as the showers upon the 
grass : Because I will publish the name of the Lord : as- 
cribe ye greatness unto our God. He is the rock ; his 
work is perfect: for all his ways are judgment; a God of 
truth and without iniquity, just and right is he. 

They have corrupted themselves, their spot is not the 
spot of his children : they are a perverse and crooked gene- 
ration. Do ye thus requite the Lord, foolish people and 
vinwise ■? is not he thy father that hath bought thee? hath 
he not made thee and established thee ? Remember the 
days of old, consider the years of many generations : ask 
thy father, and he will show thee ; thy elders, and they 
will tell thee. When the Most High divided to the nations 
their hiheritance, v/lien he separated the sons of Adam, he 
set the bounds of the people according to the children of 
Israel. 

For the Lord's portion is his people ; Jacob is the lot of 
his inheritance. He found him in a desert land, and in the 
waste howling wilderness ; he led him about, he instructed 
him, he kept him as tlie apple of his eye. As an eagle 
stirreth up her nest, fluttereth over her young, spreadeth 
abroad her wings, taketh them, beareth them on her wings: 
so the Lord alone did lead him, and there was no strange 
god with him.' 

The foolish people and unwise, before whom Moses 
celebrates the divine majesty and goodness, were the 
Israelites, whom, during more than forty years, this great 
man had governed, and whom he was now about to 
leave forever. 

Homer's verses were first preserved by oral tradition. 
Lycurgus heard them recited in Ionia, and made the 
people of Sparta acquainted with them ; but accordin^ 
to Cicero, it is to Pisistratus, the Athenian, that we are 
indebted for the ultimate preservation of Homer's works 
and fame. Pisistratus caused the books of Homer to be 
transcribed and placed in the public library which he 
founded at Athens. From this copy other manuscripts 



HOMER. 197 

were taken, and these in modem times have been copied, 
multiplied, and diffused by means of the ait of piintini:^. 

Scholars of the sixteenth centuiy in England eraplo3'ed 
themselves in translations from Greek and Latin. Greek 
and Latin tragedies, and the poetry of Virgil and Ovid 
were thus made familiar to the English reader. When 
Pope was a boy, about the year 1700, he " was initiated 
in poety by the perusal of Ogilby's Homer, and Sandy's 
Virgil." Chapman's translation of Homer is also men- 
tioned about the same time. These translations were not 
of a character to exclude the utility and desirableness of 
an improved version of Homer. 

Mr. Pope began an English translation of Homer's IHad 
in 1712, and finished it in 1718. 

" It is," said Dr. Johnson, " the noblest version of poetry 
which the world has ever seen ; and its publication must 
therefore be considered as one of the great events in the 
annals of learning." The pubhcation of the Iliad was com- 
pleted in 1720. The Odyssey, in the translation of which 
Mr. Pope was assisted by two gentlemen, Fenton and 
Broome, was finished in 1725. From these works the 
principal translator derived a large sum, so that he cannot 
be ranked among poor poets. 

Pope's Homer is among the most popular books in our 
language. Mr. Gibbon, the historian of tiie Roman 
empire, was greatly delighted with it when he was a boy, 
and would hardly be persuaded that the venerable Grecian 
could be more beautiful in his original form. Lord Byron 
says — "Who ever read Cowper's Homer?" and at the 
same time he speaks of the lively pleasure which Pope's 
Version, with its smooth and flowing versification, has 
afforded him. Mr. Cowper did not thus love Pope's 
Homer — that elegant and upright poet did not consider it 
the " noblest version " which might be made of the 
ancient classic. 

Cowper completed a translation of the Iliad and 
Odyssey, on the 2oth of August, 1790. He was occu- 
pied in the work five years and one month. It was 
written in blank verse, and how faithful soever it may be 
to the original, it wants the attractiveness of rhyme; and 
notwitlistanding the judgment of some excellent scholars, 
that the translation of Pope is often obscure and para- 
17* 



198 POETRT FOR SCHOOLS. 

phrastic, and that Cowper is more simple and more faith- 
ful to Homer, the public mind upon this subject nearly 
agrees with Lord Byron's opinion. 

Those who sympathize with Cowper, must take some 
interest in a work which alleviated the sufferings of the 
afflicted poet. Of his completed translation he says — 
" Now I have only to regret that my pleasant work is 
ended. To the illustrious Greek I owe the smooth and 
easy flight of many thousand hours. He has been my com- 
panion at home and abroad, in the garden and in the field ; 
and no measure of success, let my labors succeed as they 
may, will ever compensate to me the loss of the innocent 
luxury that I have enjoyed as a translator of Homer." 

The Iliad is the history of a war. The Odyssey is 
chiefly the history of an individual and his family. Thoiigh 
it is connected with the Trojan war, it is a description 
of domestic manners, and throws much light upon the 
religion, the state of knowledge, and the useful and orna- 
mental arts among the Greeks at that time. 

The Iliad describes a series of battles between the 
Greeks and Trojans. The whole narrative is highly inter- 
esting. Some rigid moralists have considered the woi'ks 
of Homer as dangerous to the principles of the young. 
He, say they, makes war attractive, and exalts the false 
glory of military heroes. The puie virtues which Chris- 
tianity recommends are forgotten by the admirer of Homer, 
as he feasts his imagination in the lustre of great crimes 
dignified by the authority of great names. 

Homer represents barbarous men as they were, but he 
does not forget to infuse into his narrative sentiments 
of religion and humanity ; and these relieve his dark pictures 
of violent passions, ferocious manners, and wanton waste 
of human life. There is something in the character of the 
wariior fascinating to the young ; but other causes besides 
the reading of Homer, form the false moral taste which is 
charmed with military glory; such are the want of Christian 
education — the want of an early and deep conviction that 
the praise of God is better than the praise of men. A 
mind early impressed with the beautiful character of Jesus, 
will feel that benevolence, and the dignity of a soul 
sustained by unfaltering trust in God under all circum- 
stances, may aff'ord nobler displays of virtue than all the 
occasions that war ever produced. 



HOMER. 199 



There exists 



A higher than the warrior's excellence. 
In war itself, war is no iiltimate purpose. 
The vast and sudden deeds of violence, 
Adventures wild, and wonders of the moment — 
These are not they, my son, that generate 
The calm, the blissful, the enduring mighty ? 

Coleridge's translation of lValle7istein. 

Dr. Channing, in his review of the life of Napoleon 
Bonaparte, says, " The greatness of the warrior is poor and 
low compared with the magnanimity of virtue. It vanishes 
before the greatness of principle. The martvr to humanity, 
to freedom, or religion ; the unshrinking adherent of des- 
pised and deserted truth ; who alone, unsupported and 
scorned, with no crowd to infuse into him courage, no 
vai'iety of objects to draw his thoughts from himself, no 
opportunity of effort or resistance to rouse and nourish 
energy, still yields himself calmly, resolutely, with in- 
vincible philanthropy, to bear long and exquisite suffeiing, 
which one retracting word might remove ; such a man is as 
superior to the warrior, as the tranquil and boundless 
heavens above us, to the low earth we tread beneath our 
feet." 

Hector, a Trojan prince, is perhaps the most interesting 
of Homer's heroes. The charm of Hector's character is 
principally deiived from his amiable dome><tic affections. 
The parting of Hector and Andromnchc is in most collec- 
tions of poetry, but it is not a less touching scene because 
it is well known. 

PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. 

Ere yet I mingle in the direful fray. 

My wife, my infant, claim a moment's stay ; 

This day (perhaps the last that sees me here) 

Demands a parting word, a tender tear : 

This day, some god who hates our Trojan land 

May vanquish Hector by a Grecian liand. 

He said ; and passed with sad presaging heart 
To seek his spouse, his soul's far dearer part ; 
At home he sought her, but he sought in vain : 
She with one maid of all her menial train, 



200 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Had thence retired ; and with her second joy, 
The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy, 
Pensive she stood on Ilion's tow'ry height, 
Beheld the v^ar, and sickened at the sight ; 
There her sad eyes in vain her lord explore, 
Or weep the wounds her bleeding country bore. 

But he who found not whom his soul desired, 
Whose virtue charmed him as her beauty fired, 
Stood in the gates, and asked what way she bent 
Her parting step ? if to the fane slie went, 
Where late the mourning matrons made resort ; 
Or sought her sisters in the Trojan court ? 
Not to the court, replied the attendant train. 
Nor mixed with matrons at Llinerva's fane : 
To Ilion's steepy tower she bent her way. 
To mark the fortunes of the doubtful day, 
Troy fled, she heard, before the Grecian sword ; 
She heard, and trembled for her absent lord ; 
Distracted with surprise, she seemed to fl}', 
Fear on her cheek, and sorrow in her eye. 
The nurse attended with her infant boy, 
The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy. 

Hector, this lieard, returned without delay ; 
Swift through the town he ti-od his former way, 
Through streets of palaces, and walks of state. 
And met the mourner at the Scaean gate. 
With haste to meet him sprung the joyful fairj 
His blameless wife. Action's wealthy heir ; 
The nurse stood near, in whose embraces prest 
His only hope hung smiling at her breast, 
Whom each soft charm and early grace adorn, 
Fair as the new-born star that gilds the raorni 
To this loved infant Hector gave the name 
Scamandi'ius, from Scamander's honored stream t 
Astyanax, the Trojans called the boy, 
From his great father, the defence of Troy. 
Silent the warrior smiled, and pleased, resigned 
To tender passions all his mighty mind ; 
His beauteous princess cast a mournful look, 
Hung on his hand, and then dejected spoke; 
Her bosom labored with a boding sigh, 
And the big tear stood trembling in her eye. 

• Too daring prince ! ah, whither dost thou run ? 



HOMER. 20J 

Ah too forgetful of thy wife and son ! 

And thhik'st thou not how wretched we shall be 

A widow I, a helpless orphan he ! 

For sure such courage length of life denies, 

And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice. 

Greece in her single heroes strove in vain ; 

Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain ! 

Oh grant me gods ! ere Hector meet his doom. 

All I can ask of heaven, an early tomb ! 

So sliall my days in one sad tenor run. 

And end in sorrow as they first begun. 

No parent now remains, my griefs to share, 

No father's aid, no mother's tender care.' 

Tlie fiei-ce Achilles wrapt our walls in fire. 
Laid Thebe toaste, and sletv my warlike sire ! 
His fate compassion in the victor bred ; 
Stern as he was, he yet revered the dead. 
His radiant arms preserved from hostile spoil. 
And laid him decent on the funeral pile : 
Then raised a mountain where his bones were burned : 
Th& mountain nymphs the rural tomb adorned ; 
Jove's sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow 
A barren shade, and in his honor gi'ow. 
By the same arm my seven brave brothers fell, 
In one sad day beheld the gates of hell ; 
Wliile the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed. 
Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled. 
My mother lived to bear the victor's bands. 
The queen of Hippoplacia's sylvan lands : 
Redeemed too late, she scarce beheld again 
Her pleasing empire, and her native plain. 
When ah ! oppi-essed by life-consuming wo. 
She fell a victim to Diana's bow. 

Yet while mv Hector still survives, I see 
My father, mother, brethren, all in thee. 
Alas ! mv parents, brothers, kindred, all. 
Once more will perish, if ray Hector fall. 
Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share 
Oh prove a husband's and a fatlier's care 
That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy, 
Where yon wild fig trees join the wall of 'h'oy , 
Thou, from this tower, defend the important post; 
There Agamemnon points liis dreadful host. 



202 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain. 
And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train. 
Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given. 
Or led by hopes, or dictated from heaven. 
Let others in the field their arms employ. 
But stay ray Hector here, and guard his Troy. 

The chief replied : That post shall be my care. 
Nor that alone, but all the works of war. 
How would the sons of Troy, in arms renowned. 
And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the 

ground. 
Attaint the lustre of my former name. 
Should Hector basely quit the field of fame ! 
My early youth was bred to martial pains, 
My soul impels me to the embattled plains : 
Let me be foremost to defend the throne. 
And guard my father's glories and my own. 
Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates ; 
How my heart trembles while my tongue relates ! 
The day when thou, imperial Troy ! must bend. 
And see thy Avarriors fall, thy glories end. — 

And )^et no dire presage so wounds my mind. 
My mother's death, the ruin of my kind. 
Not Priam's hoary hairs defiled with gore, 
Not all my brothers gasping on the shore. 
As thine, Andromache ! thy griefs I dread ; 
I see thee ti-embling, weeping, captive led ! 
In Argive looms our battles to design, 
And woes, of which so large a part was thine ! 
To bear the victor's hard commands or bring 
The weight of waters from Hyperia's spring. 
There, while you groan beneath the load of life. 
They cry, Behold the mighty Hector's wife ! 
Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see, 
Embitters all thy woes, by naming me. 
The thoughts of glory past, and present shame, 
A thousand griefs shall waken at the name. 
May I lie cold before that dreadful day, 
Press'd with a load of monumental clay ! 
Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep, 
Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep. 

Thus having spoke, th' illustrious chief of Troy 
Stretched his fond arras to clasp the lovely boy. 



HOMER. 203 

The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast, 
Scared at the dazzUng hehri, and nodding crest. 
With secret pleasure each fond parent smiled, 
And Hector hasted to I'elieve his child. 
The glittering terrors from his brows unbound, 
And placed the beaming helmet on the ground , 
Then kissed the child, and lifting high in air. 
Thus to the gods preferred a father's prayer : 

' thou, whose glory fills the etherial throne, 
And all j^e deathless powers ! protect my son ! 
Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown, 
To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown. 
Against his country's foes the war to wage. 
And rise the Hector of the future age ! 
So when, triumphant from successful toils 
Of heroes slain he hears the reeking spoils. 
Whole hosts may hail him with deserved acclaim, 
And saj' this chief transcends his father's fame: 
While pleased amidst the general shouts of Troy 
His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy.' 

He spoke ; and fondly gazing on her charms, 
Restored the pleasing burden to her arms. 
Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid. 
Hushed to repose, and with a smile surveyed. 
The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear, 
She mingled with the smile a tender tear. 
The softened chief with kind compassion viewed, 
And diied the falling drops, and thus pursued : 

' Andromache ! my soul's far better part. 
Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart? 
No hostile hand can antedate my doom. 
Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb. 
Fixed is the term to all the race of earth. 
And such the hard condition of our birth. 
No force can then resist, no flight can save. 
All sink alike, the fearful and the brave. 
No more — but hasten to thy task at home. 
There guide the spindle and direct the loom : 
Me glory summons to the martial scene. 
The field of combat is the sphere for men, 
Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim, 
The first in danger, as the first in fame.' 



204 POETHY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Thus having said, the glorious chief resumes 
His towery helmet, black with shading plumes ; 
His princess parts with a prophetic sigh, 
Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye. 
That streamed at every look ; then moving slow, 
Sought her own palace, and indulged her wo. 
There, while her tears deplored the godlike man, 
Through all her train the soft infection ran. 
The pious maids their mingled sorrows shed, 
And mourn the living Hector as the dead. 

Achilles was the most valiant of the Greeks, as Hector 
was of the Trojans. The fierce Achilles lurapt our loalh in 
fire, &c. These lines immediately following this, describe 
the conduct of Achilles as the victor of Thebes and Hippo- 
placia in Cilicia. Andromache was a princess of that 
country ; she says, Achilles respected her dead father, and 
gave him the honor of a funeral pile, raised a heap of earth 
over his ashes, and permitted a grove of elms to be planted 
by the young women of tlie place around his tomb. The 
brothers of Andromache, feeding their flocks, were surprised 
by the ferocious chief, and sent to hell. This expression, in 
this place, only intimates sudden death. Andromache's 
mother, the queen of Hippoplacia, was at first made a slave 
to the victor ; but he restored her to her sylvan lands — too 
late, however — she fell a victim to Diana's hoiv. Diana 
was one of the powers of hfe and death. This is a figura- 
tive manner of saying, the queen died. 

I see thee trembling, loecping, cajitive led, &c. Hector 
foresees the day in which Iiis wife, according to the custom 
of that time, when she should become a prisoner of war, 
would be made a slave to the conquerors of his country. 

There guide the sjnndle, and direct the loom. This shows 
the simplicity of the modes of life among princes of that 
time. Andromache's brothers, hke Jacob's sons, fed their 
flocks. The mighty Hector's wife employed herself in do- 
mestic manufactures. 

SARPEDON. 

Sarpedon reputed to be a son of Jupiter, was a king of 
Lycia in Asia Minor. He, with his friend Glaucus, re- 
paired to Troy, to assist Priam against the Greeks. He 
is represented by Homer to have been a man of high 



HOMER. 205 

honor: being about to attack tbe Greeks, he exhorts 
Glaucus in a manner worthy of his station : 

Nor Troy could conquer, nor the Greeks would yield. 

Till great Sarpedon towered amid the field 

For mighty Jove inspired with martial flame 

His matchless son, and urged him on to fame. 

In arms he shines, conspicuous from afar, 

And bears aloft his ample shield in air : 

Within whose orb the thick bull-hides were rolled 

Pond'rous with brass, and bound with ductile gold : 

And while two pointed jav'lins arm his hands. 

Majestic moves along, and heads his Lycian bands. 

Why boast we, Glaucus ! our extended reign. 
Where Xanthus' streams enrich the Lycian plain, 
Our num'rous herds that range the fruitful field, 
And hills where vines their purple harvest yield. 
Our foaming bowls with purer nectar crowned. 
Our feasts enhanced with music's sprightly sound? 
Why on those shores are we with joy surveyed. 
Admired as heroes, and as gods obeyed? 
Unless great acts superior merit prove, 
And vindicate the bounteous powers above. 
'Tis ours, the dignity they give, to grace. 
The first in valor, as the first in place. 

That when, with wond'ring eyes, our martial bands 
Behold our deeds transcending our commands. 
Such they may cry, deserve the sovereign state. 
Whom those that envy, dare not imitate ! 
Could all our care elude the gloomy grave. 
Which claims no less the fearful and the brave, 
For lust of fame I should not vainly dare 
In fighting fields, nor urge my soul to war. 
But since, alas ! ignoble age must come, 
Disease and death's inexorable doom ; 
The life which others pay, let us bestow. 
And give to fame what we to nature owe ; 
Brave though we fall, and honored if we live, 
Or let us glory gain, or glory give! 

Wki/ on these shores ? (&c. — These lines are rendered 
thus in Cowper's Iliad : — 

W^hy gaze they all on us as we were gods 
In Lycia, and why share we pleasant fields 
IS 



208 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

And spacious vineyards where the Xanthus winds ? 

Distinguished thus in Lycia we are called 

To firmness here, and to encounter bold 

The burning battle, that our fair report 

Among the Lycians may be blazoned thus — 

No dastards are the potentates who rule 

The bright-armed Lycians ; on the fatted flock 

They banquet, and they drink the richest wines, 

But they are also valiant, and the fight 

Wage dauntless 

These very different modes of expression hardly suggest 
the idea of the same passage. In English prose the sense 
of Pope's version is this — Why boast we the fa\'ors of the 
gods — our prosperity and our high station ? — Why do our 
subjects regard us as gods, unless our conduct be worthy 
of our privileges ? — It becomes us to prove that we de- 
serve the divine favor, and the homage of our subjects, by 
actions suitable to the dignity we enjoy, and the respect 
we command. 

In the sixteenth book of the Iliad, Sarpedon is killed by 
Patroclus, a Greek : 

The towering chiefs to fiercer fight advance. 

And first Sarpedon whirled his weighty lance, 

Which o'er the warrior's shoulder took its course, 

And spent in empty air its dying force. 

Not so Patroclus' never-erring dart ; 

Aimed at his breast, it pierced the mortal part 

Where the strong fibres bind the solid heart. 

Then, as the mountain oak, or poplar tall. 

Or pine, (fit mast for some great admiral,) 

Nods to the axe, till with a groaning sound 

It sinks, and spreads its honors on the ground ; 

Thus fell the king ; and, laid on earth supine, 

Before his chariot stretched his form divine : 

He grasped the dust distained wilh streaming gore, 

And, pale in death, lay groaning on the shore. 

Then to the leader of the Lycian band 
The dying chief addrest his last command. 
Glaucus be bold ; thy task be first to dare 
The glorious dangers of destructive war. 



HOMER, 207 

To lead my troops, to combat at their head. 
Incite the living, and supply the dead. 
Tell them, I charged them with my latest breath 
Not unrevenged to bear Sarpedon's death. 
What grief, what shame must Glaucus undergo, 
If these spoiled arms adorn a Grecian foe ! 
Then as a friend, and as a warrior fight; 
Defend my body, conquer in my right ; 
That, taught by great examples, all may try 
Like thee to vanquish, or like me to die. 

He ceased ; the fates suppressed his laboring breatW, 
And his eyes darkened with the shades of death. 
The insulting victor in disdain bestrode 
The prostrate prince and on his bosom trode. 
All impotent of aid, transfixed with grief, 
Unhappy Glaucus heard the dying chief. 
First to the fight his native troops he warms, 
Then loudly calls on Troy's vindictive arms. 

He spoke : each leader in his grief partook, 
Troy, at the loss, through all her legions shook. 
Transfixed with deep regret, they view o'erthrown. 
At once his country's pillar and their own, 
A chief who led to Troy's beleaguered wall 
A host of heroes, and outshone them all. 
Fired they rush on ; first Hector seeks the foes, 
And with superior vengeance greatly glows. 

Now great Sarpedon on the sandy shore, 
His heavenly face deformed with dust and gore. 
And struck with darts by warring heroes shed. 
Lies undistinguish'd from the common dead. 
His long disputed corse the chiefs inclose. 
On ev'ry side the busy combat grows. 

Then, nor before, the hardy Lycians fled. 
And left their monarch with the common dead ; 
Around, in heaps on heaps, a dreadful wall 
Of carnage rises as the heroes fall. 
(So Jove decreed !) at length the Greeks obtain 
The prize contested, and despoil the slain. 
The radiant arms are by Patroclus borne, 
Patroclus' ships the glorious spoils adorn. 

Then thus to Phoebus in the realms above. 
Spoke from his throne the cloud-compelling JovP : 



208 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Descend, my Phoebus ! on the Phrygian plain, 

And fiom the fight convey Sarpedon slain ; 

Then bathe his body in the crystal flood. 

With dust dishonored, and deformed with blood: 

O'er all his limbs ambrosial odors shed, 

And with celestial robes adorn the dead. 

Those rites discharged, his sacred corse bequeath 

To the soft arras of silent Sleep and Death : 

They to his friends the mournful charge shall bear, 

His friends a tomb and pyramid shall rear ; 

What honors mortals after death receive, 

Those unavailing honors we may give ! 

Apollo bows, and from Mount Ida's height, 
Swift to the field precipitates his flight ; 
Thence from the war the breathless hero bore. 
Veiled in a cloud to silver Simois' shore ; 
There bathed his honorable wounds, and drest 
His manly members in the immortal vest ; 
And with perfumes of sweet ambrosial dews. 
Restores his freshness and his form i-enews. 
Then Sleep and Death, two twins of winged race. 
Of matchless swiftness but of silent pace, 
Received Sarpedon, at the god's command, 
And in a moment reached the Lycian land ; 
The corse amidst his weeping friends they laid. 
Where endless honors wait the sacred shade. 

The insulting victor trod on his prostrate foe. This hor- 
ribly revengeful spirit gives a revolting idea of savage war- 
fare. Christianity has taught men a more merciful mode 
of treating fallen enemies. 



REVENGE OF ACHILLES. 

Hector killed Patroclus, the beloved friend of Achilles. 
Achilles felt unbounded fury at this act, and resolves upon 
the death of Hector. Upon this event, which Achilles 
accomplishes, the implacable vengeance of his heart is 
shocking — he refuses funeral rites to the dead, and drags 
his corpse in the most outrageous manner round the monu- 
ment of Patroclus. 



HOMER. 209 

Then his fell soul a thouglit of vengeance bred, 
(Unworthy of himself, and of the dead,) 
The nervous ancles bored, his feet he bound 
With thongs inserted thiough the double Avound ; 
These fixed up high behind the rolling wain. 
His graceful head was trailed along the plain. 
Proud on his car the insulting victor stood, 
And bore aloft his arms distilling blood. 
He smites the steeds ; the rapid chariot flies ; 
The sudden clouds of circling dust arise. 
Now lost is all that formidable air ; 
The face divine, and long descending hair. 
Purple the ground, and streak the sable sand ; 
Deformed, dishonored, in his native land ! 
Given to the rage of an insultino: thronrf ! 
And, in his parents' sight, now drao-jred along: ! 

FUNERAL OF HECTOR. 

Achilles, after offering these indignities to the remains of 
Hector, retains the body. Priam, king of Troy, the unfor- 
tunate father of Hector, entreats Achilles to restore the 
corpse, and though he had sworn to refuse, his obdurate 
heart at length yields to the pleading of humanity, and 
he permits the afflicted Priam to pay the last honors to 
his son. 

Now shed Aurora round her saffron ray. 

Sprung through the gates of light, and gave the day : 

Charged with their mournful load, to Ilion go 

The sage and king, majestically slow. 

Cassandra first beholds, from Ilion's spire, 

The sad procession of her hoary sire. 

Then, as the pensive pomp advanced more near, 

Her breathless brother stretched upon the bier ; 

A shower of tears o'ertlows her beauteous eyes, 

Alarming thus all Ilion with her cries. 

' Turn here your steps, and here your eyes employ. 
Ye wretched daughtei's, and ye sons of Troy ! 
If e'er ye rushed in crowds, with vast delight. 
To hail your hero glorious from the fight ; 
Now meet him dead, and let your sorrows flow ! 
Your common triumpli, and your common wo.' 
18* 



210 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

In thronging crowds they issue to the plains, 
Nor man, nor woman in the walls remains, 
In every face the self-same grief is shown, 
And Troy sends forth one universal groan. 
At Scsea's gates they meet the mourning wain. 
Hang on the wheels, and grovel round the slain. 
The wife and mother, frantic with despair, 
Kiss his pale cheek, and rend their scattered hair; 
Thus Avildly wailing, at the gates the}'' lay, 
And there had siglied and sorrowed out the day ; 
But godlike Priam from the chariot rose ; 

* Forbear, he cried, this violence of woes ; 
First to the palace let the car proceed, 

Then pour your boundless sorrows o'er the dead.' 

The waves of people at his word divide, 
Slow rolls the chariot through the following tide ; 
Even to the palace the sad pomp they wait; 
They weep, and place him on the bed of state. 
A melancholy choir attend around, 
With plaintive sighs, and music's solemn sound : 
Alternately they sung, alternate flow 
The obedient tears, melodious in their wo. 
While deeper sorrows groan from each full heart. 
And nature speaks at ever}^ pause of art. 

First to the corse the weeping consort flew ; 
Around his neck her milk-white arms she threw, 
' And, oh my Hector ! oh my lord !' she cries, 

* Snatched in thy bloom from these desiring eyes ! 
Thou to the dismal realms for ever gone ! 

And I abandoned, desolate, alone ! 

An only son, once comfort of our pains, 

Sad product now of hapless love remains ! 

Never to manly age that son shall rise, 

Or with increasing graces glad my eyes : 

For Ilion now, her great defender slain, 

Shall sink a smoking ruin on the plain. 

Who now protects her wives with guardian care ? 

Who saves her infants from the rage of war ? 

Now hostile fleets must waft those infants o'er. 

Those wives must wait them on a foreign shore ! 

' Thou too, my son ? to barb'rous climes shalt gi 
The sad companion of thy mother's wo : 



HOMER. 211 

Driven hence a slave before the victor's sword ; 

Condemned to toil for some inhuman lord. 

Or else some Greek whose father prest the plain, 

Or son, or brother by great Hector slain, 

In Hector's blood his vengeance shall enjoy. 

And hurl thee headlong from the tow'rs of Troy. 

For thy stern father never spared a foe ; 

Thence all these tears, and all this scene of wo ! 

Thence many evils his sad parents bore. 

His parents many, but his consort more. 

Why gav'st thou not to me thy dying hand ? 

And why received not I thy last command ? 

Some word thou would'st have spoke, which sadly dear. 

My soul might keep, or utter with a tear ; 

Which never, never, could be lost in aii'. 

Fixed in my heart, and oft-repeated there !' 

Thus to her weeping maids she makes her moan; 
Her weeping handmaids echo groan for groan. 

The mournful mother next sustains her part. 
'' thou, the best, the dearest to my heart! 
Of all my race thou most by heav'n approved> 
And by the immortals even in death beloved ! 
While all my other sons in barbarous bands, 
Achilles bound, and sold to foreign lands. 
This felt no chains, but went a glorious ghost 
J^ree, and a hero to the Stygian coast. 
Sentenced, 't is true, by his inhuman doom, 
Thy noble corpse was dragged around the tomb, 
(The tomb of him thy warlike arm had slain,) 
Ungenerous insult, impotent and vain I 
Yet glow'st thou fresh with every living grace, 
No mark of pain, or violence of face ; 
Rosy and fair ! as Phoebus' silver bow 
Dismissed thee gently to the shades below.' 

Thus spoke the dame, and melted into tears. 
Sad Helen next in pomp of grief appears : 
Fast from the shining sluices of her eyes 
Fall the round crystal drops, while thus she cries. 

' Ah dearest friend ! in whom the gods had joined 
The mildest manners wilh the bravest mind ; 
Now twice ten years (unhappy years) are o'er, 
Since Paris brought me to the Trojan shore ; 



212 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Yet was it ne'er my fate, from thee to find 
A deed ungentle or a word unkind : 
When others curst the auth'ress of their wo. 
Thy pity checked my sorrows in their flow ; 
If some proud brother eyed me with disdain, 
Or scornful sister with her sweeping train. 
Thy gentle accents softened all my pain. 
For thee I mourn ; and mourn myself in thee. 
The wretched source of all this misery ! 
The fate I caused forever I bemoan ; 
Sad Helen has no fiiend now thou art gone ! 
Through Troy's wide streets abandoned shall I roam t 
In Troy deserted, as abhorred at home !' 
So spoke the fair, with sorrow-streaming eye ; 
Distressful beauty melts each stander-by ; 
On all around the infectious sorrow grows ; 
But Priam checked the sorrow as it rose. 
' Perform, ye Trojans ! what the lites require, 
And fell the forests for a fuuehU pyre ; 
Twelve days, nor foes, nor secret ambush dread, 
Achilles grants these honors to the dead.' 
He spoke ; and at his word, the Trojan train, 
Their mules and oxen harness to the wain. 
Pour through the gates, and felled from Ida's crown. 
Rolled back the gathered forests to the town. 
These toils continue nine succeeding days. 
And high in air a sylvan structure raise. 
But when the tenth fair morn began to shine. 
Forth to the pile was borne the man divine, 
And placed aloft : while all with streaming eyes 
Beheld the flames and rolling smoke arise. 
Soon as Aurora, daughter of tlie dawn, 
With rosy lustre streaked the dewy lawn ; 
Again the mournful crowds sui'round the pyrC;, 
And quench with wine the yet remaining fire. 
The snowy bones his friends and brothers place 
(With tears collected) in a golden vase ; 
The golden vase in purple palls they rolled 
Of softest texture, and inwrought with gold. 
Last o'er the urn the sacred earth they spread. 
And raised their tomb, memorial of the dead. 
(Strong guards and spies, till all their rites were done. 
Watched from the rising to the setting sun :) 



HOMER. 213 

All Troy then moves to Priam's court again, 
A solemn, silent, melanchol)'^ train : 
Assembled there, from pious toils they rest, 
And sadly shared the last sepulchral feast. 
Such honors Ilion to her hero paid, 
And peaceful slept the mighty Hector's shade. 

The sage and king, dx. — Priam was accompanied in his 
journey to the tent of Achilles by Idaeus the herald. 

Hecuba, the mother of Hector, appears to take a melan- 
choly pleasure in the thought that Hector descended free to 
the Stygian coast ; that he was never a prisoner of war, never 
sold for a slave, as was the custom of that time in many cases. 
The Hell of the ancients was watered by the Styx. The 
deceased lingered on the Stygian shore — the banks of the 
Styx — " a naked, wandering, melancholy gliost," till the 
rites of sepulture were paid, and then the judges of the 
dead sentenced him to the reward of the " deeds done in 
the body." 

Helen was the wife of Menelaus, the Spartan king. Paris, 
the brother of Hector, enticed her to accompany him to 
Troy. To punish this act the princes of Greece had invad- 
ed Troy. Helen's grief is very honorable to Hector — it 
describes that affectionate and gentle nature so dear to his 
parents, his wife, and his domestics. 



ITLYSSES. 

Ulysses, king of Ithaca, was the most accomplished of 
the Greeks who went to the siege of Troy. He is described, 
by Homer to have been diffident though eloquent, not to 
have commanded admiration the moment he rose to speak, 
but by degi'ees to have charmed those who listened to him. 

But when Ulysses rose, in thought profoixnd, 

His modest eyes he fixed upon the ground, 

As one unskilled or dumb, he seemed to stand, 

Nor raised his head, nor stretched his sceptered hand ; 

But, when he speaks, what elocution flows ! 

Soft as the fleeces of decending snows, 

The copious accents fall with easy art; 

Melting they fall, and sink into the heart ! 



214 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS.. 

Wond'ring we hear, and fixed in deep surprise ,' 
Our ears refute the censure of our eyes. 

On his return from Troy Ulysses fell under the displea- 
sure of Apollo. The n>en under his command had 

-dared to prey 



On herds devoted to the god of Day. 

That is they had seized upon flocks resented for the sac- 
rifices to Apollo. The god vindictive doomed them never 
to return to their country, — they were destined to perish by 
a series of accidents, and their commander was at length to 
be restored to his dominions. But he was wrecked on 
Ogygia, a supposed island of the Mediterranean, and for 
want of a ship to convey him away, was detained there 
seven years. This island was the abode of Calypso, one of 
the Oceanides — children of the Ocean. Calypso loved 
Ulysses, and was grieved at his departure, which was effect- 
ed by the decree of Jove, or Jupiter, who sent Mercury with: 
the celestial message. In the fifth book of the Odyssey 
the passage may be found. 

eALYPSOi 

Tlie god who mounts the winged winds 
Fast to his feet the golden pinions binds. 
That high through fields of air his flight sustain 
O'er the wide earth, and o'er the boundless main. 
He grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly, 
Or in soft slumbers seals the wakeful eye; 
Then shoots from heaven to liigh Pieria's steep,. 
And stoops incumbent on the rolling deep. 
So watery fowl, that seek their fishy food. 
With wings expanded o'er the foaming flood,. 
Now sailing smooth the level surface sweep. 
Now dip their pinions in the briny deep. 
Thus o'er the world of waters Hermes flew. 
Till now the distant island rose in view : 
Then swift ascending from the azure wave,. 
He took the path that winded to the cave. 

Large was the grot in Avhich the nymph he found, 
(The fair-haired nymph with every beauty crowned) 



HOMER. 215 

She sat and sung ; the rocks resound her lays : 
The cave was brightened with a rising blaze: 
Cedar and frankincense, an odorous pile, 
Flamed on the hearth, and wide perfumed the isle ; 
While she with work and song the time divides, 
And through the loom the golden shuttle guides. 
Without the grot, a various sylvan scene 
Appeared around, and groves of living green ; 
Poplars and alders ever quivering played. 
And nodding cypress formed a fragrant shade ; 
On whose high branches, waving with the storm, 
The birds of broadest wing their mansion form. 
The chough, the sea-mew, the loquacious crow, 
And scream aloft, and skim the deeps below. 

Depending vines the shelving cavern screen, 
With purple clusters blushing through the green. 
Four limpid fountains from the clifts distil. 
And every fountain pours a several rill. 
In mazy windings wandering down the hill , 
Where blooming meads with vivid greens were crowned, 
And glowing violets threw odors round. 
A scene, where if a God should cast a sight, 
A God might gaze and wonder with delight ! 
Joy touched the messenger of heaven ; he stayed 
Entranced, and all the blissful haunt surveyed. 
Him entering in the cave. Calypso knew ; 
For powers celestial to each other's view 
Stand still confest, though distant far they lie 
To habitants of earth, or sea, or sky. 

But sad Ulysses, by himself apart, 
Poured the big sorrows of his swelling heart ; 
All on the lonely shore he sat to weep. 
And rolled his eyes around the restless deep ; 
Toward his loved coast he rolled his eyes in vain, 
Till dimmed with rising grief, they streamed again. 

Now graceful seated on her shining throne. 
To Hermes thus the nymph divine begun. 

' God of the golden wand ! on what behest 
Arriv'st thou here, an unexpected guest ? 
Loved as thou art, thy free injunctions lay; 
'T is mine, with joy and duty to obey. 
Till now a stranger, in a happy hour 
Approach and taste the dainties of my bower.' 



216 POKTRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

Tims having spoke, the nymph the table spread, 
(Ambrosial cates, with Nectar rosy-red) 
Hermes the hospitable rites partook, 
Divine refection ! then recruited, spoke. 

' What moved this journey from my native sky, 
A Goddess asks, nor can a God deny ; 
Hear then the truth. By mighty Jove's command. 
Unwilling, have I trod this pleasing land : 
Fm- who, self-moved, with weary wing would sweep 
Such length of ocean and unmeasured deep : 
A world of waters ! far from all the ways 
Where men frequent,, or sacred altars blaze ? 
But to Jove's will submission we must pay ; 
Wliat power so great, to dare to disobey ? 
A man, he says, a man resides with thee, 
Of all his kind most worn with misery : 
The Greeks (whose ai-ms for nine long years employed 
Tlieir force on Ilion, in the tenth destroyed) 
At length embarking in a luckless hour. 
With conquest proud, incensed Minerva's power : 
Hence on the guilty race her vengeance hurled 
With storms pursued them through the liquid world. 
There all his vessels sunk beneath the wave ! 
There all his dear companions found a grave ! 
Saved from the jaws of death by heaven's decree. 
The tempest drove him to these shores and thee. 
Him, Jove now orders to his native lands 
Straight to dismiss ; so Destiny commands : 
Impatient Fate his near return attends. 
And calls him to his country, and his friends.' 

Even to her inmost soul the Goddess shook ; 
Then thus her anguish and her passion broke, 
' Ungracious Gods ! with spite and envy curst ! 
Still to your own etherial race the worst ! 
And is it now my turn, ye mighty powers ! 
Am I the envy of your blissful bowers ? 
A man, an outcast to the storm and wave, 
It was my crime to pity, and to save ; 
When he who thunders rent his bark in twain, 
And sunk his brave companions in the main. 
Alone, abandoned, in mid-ocean tost, 
The sport of winds, and driven from every coast. 



HOMER. 217 

Hither this man of miseries I led, 
Received the friendless, and the hungry fed; 
Naj^ promised (vainly promised !) to bestow 
Immortal life, exempt from age and wo. 

' 'Tis past ; and Jove decrees he shall remove ; 
Gods as we are, we are but slaves to Jove. 
Go then he may ; (he must, if he ordain. 
Try all those dangers, all those deeps again) 
But never, never shall Calypso send 
To toils like these, her husband and her friend. 
What ships have I, what sailors to convey, 
Wliat oars to cut the long laborious way ? 
Yet, I'll direct the safest means to go : 
That last advice is all I can bestow.' 

To her tlie power who bears the charming rod, 
Dismiss the man, nor irritate the God ; 
Prevent the raije of him who reigns above. 
For what so dreadful as the wrath of Jove ? 
Thus having said, he cut the cleaving sky, 
And in a moment vanished from her eye. 

The nymph, obedient to divine command, 
To seek Ulysses, paced along the sand. 
Him pensive on the lonely beach she found, 
With streaming eyes in briny torrents drowned. 
And inly pining for his native shore ; 
For now the soft enchantress pleased no more : 
He sat all desolate, and sighed alone. 
While echoing sorrows made the mountains groan. 
And rolled his eyes o'er all the restless main, 
Till dimmed with rising grief, they streamed again. 
Here, on the musing mood the Goddess prest. 
Approaching soft ; and thus the chief addrest : 
Unhappy man ! to wasting woes a prey, 
No more in sorrows languish life away : 
Free as the winds I give thee now to rove. — 
Go fell the timber of yon lofty grove, 
And form a raft, and build the rising ship, 
Sublime to bear thee o'er the gloomy deep. 
To store the vessel let the care be mine, 
With water from the rock, and rosy wine, 
And life-sustaining bread, and fair array. 
And prosperous gales to waft thee on the way : 
19 



218 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

These if the Gods with my desires comply, 
(The Gods, alas ! more mighty far than I, 
And better skill'd in dark events to come) 
In peace shall land thee at thy native home.' 

The god who mounts the winged wind. — Mercury, or Her- 
mes, the son of Jupiter and Maia. Mercuiy was the mes- 
senger of the gods. He was the god of merchants, orators, 
and thieves. The mythology says, he robbed Neptune of 
his trident, Venus of her c/irdle, the Cestus which made her 
appear so beautiful — Mars of his sword, and Vulcan of the 
anvil. 

The tvand that causes sleep to jly. — The Caduceus, a rod 
entwined with two serpents. It is the emblem of Mer- 
cury's vigilance, or watchfulness. 

Ambrosial cales lo-ith Nectar rosy red. — Ambrosia was the 
food, and Nectar the wine of the gods. 

It is related in the Odyssey that when Ulysses was in the 
Mediterranean he stopped at the Island of Circe : his men 
were in want of food, and they went to the palace of the 
enchantress to procure it, but she transformed them all, ex- 
cept one, to hogs. 

He who escaped returned to Ulysses and told him the 
misfortune of his companions. Mercury appeared to 
Ulysses and gave him an herb called Moly, which was to 
serve as a protection to him against the arts of Circe. He 
then went to the goddess, and obtained the restoration of 
his men. One of these men, named Gryllus, according to 
the assimiption of Fenelon, refused to be restored to his 
human shape, preferring the degraded condition of a hog to 
that of a man. 

Fenelon, Archbishop of Cambray in France, composed a 
dialogue between Ulysses and Gryllus. He did this for 
the instruction of a young prince whom Jie educated. This 
dialogue has been translated, and it may be useful and 
entertaining to young persons who are not princes, 

ULYSSES AND GRYLLUS. 

Ulysses. — Are you not rejoiced, my dear Gryllus, to see 
me again, and to be able to recover your human form ? 
Gryllus. — I am very glad to see you, favorite of 



HOMER. 219 

Minerva : but for the change of form, excuse me, if you 
please. 

Uh/sses. — Alas ! unhnppy Gryllus, do you know the con- 
dition in which you are ? — You are a disgusting object : 
your gross body grovels on the earth ; you have long pen- 
dulous ears ; little eyes, hardly open ; an odious grunt ; a 
disagreeable phj^siognomy, and a skin covered with coarse 
and stiff bristles, — in short, your whole appearance is 
hideous. If you know it not, let me tell you, and you have 
so little sense of enjoyment in this deplorable state, you 
>vill find yourself happy to resume that of a man. 

Gryllus. — You talk very well, but I do not wish to re- 
sume mj former condition : — that of a hog is more agree- 
able. It is true my figure is not elegant ; but this does not 
disturb me, since I never look in a mirror, and in my pres- 
ent humor I need not dread to see myself in the water, and 
to be reminded of my ugliness, for I prefer a muddy pool 
to a clear fountain. 

Ulysses. — Does not this filthiness excite horror in you ? 
You live only in loathsome places, and the very odor you 
diffuse offends the senses of all about you. 

Gryllus. — What do I care ; all depends upon taste. This 
odor which is detestable to you, is more fragrant than 
amber to me ; and refuse substances, which man abhors, 
are nectar to my appetite. 

Ulysses. — I blush for you. Is it possible that you have 
so soon forgotten the dignity and happiness of man ! 

Gryllus. — Speak not to me of the state of man : all his 
calamities are real, and his blessings are only imaginary, I 
have a healthful body covered with a bristled coat, and I 
have no need of garments : you would be more happy in 
your unfortunate adventures if your body was covered like 
mine, that you might feel no anxiety how you should be 
clothed. I find my subsistence every where. Law-suits, 
and wars, and all other embarrassments of life do not dis- 
turb me. I have no need of cook, barber, tailor, or archi- 
tect. Behold me free and content at httle expense. "Why 
then would you again subject me to the wants of man? 

Ulysses. — It is true that man experiences great wants, 
but the arts which he has invented to supply his wants be- 
come his glory, and form his happiness. 

Gryllus. — It is better to be exempted fiom all these 
wants than to possess the most wonderful means to remedy 



220 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

them. It is better to enjoy perfect health, without the 
science of medicine, than to be always sick — with excellent 
means of cure. 

Ulysses. — But, Gryllus, count you for nothing^, eloquence, 
poetry, music, and the science of all arts, and all civilized 
nations — figures and numbers ? Would you renounce the 
love of your native country and your friends, the pleasures 
of religious worship, the celebration of public benefits, and 
the honors to be obtained by public approbation ? — Answer 
me. 

Gryllus. — My constitution as a hog is so happy that it 
raises me above these fine things. I love better to grunt 
than to be eloquent as you are, who are persuasive as Mi- 
nerva. I wish neither to persuade nor to be persuaded. I 
am as indifferent to verse as to prose. The honors which 
Greece bestows are crowns to wrestlers and chariot racers : 
I leave them to those who love laurels as infants love play- 
things. I am no more disposed to bear away prizes than to 
envy those who are less burthened with fat than myself. 

As for music, I have lost my taste for it, and taste deter- 
mines the value of everything : let us talk no more about 
these matters. Return to Ithaca — My country is any- 
where. The country of a hog is wherever there are acorns. 
Go, reign, behold Penelope once more, and punish her 
lovers. For me my queen is here ; she reigns in my sty, 
and no one troubles our empire. Many kings in sumptuous 
palaces cannot attain to my felicity ; men call them cowards 
and unworthy of a throne when they wish, like me, to 
reign without disturbing mankind. 

Ulysses. — You forget that you are at the mercy of men ; 
they feed only to devour you. Men, in the rank in which 
you wish not to be, will convert you into lard, sausages and 
bacon. 

Gryllus. — Truly that is the danger of my state ; but 
yours has also its perils. I expose myself to death by a 
sensual hfe of which the enjoyment is rftil ; you, at the 
same time, are in danger of a sudden death by an unhap- 
py life, and in the pursuit of vain glory. Should Apollo 
himself sing your achievements, his praises could not cure 
your pains nor prolong your days. 

Ulysses. — You are then so brutified as to despise wisdom, 
which assimilates men to gods ? 

Gryllus. — On the contrary — wisdom instructs me to de- 



i" E N E LO X . 221 

spise men. Sinc-e they are unjust, deceitful, ungrateful, 
miserable by their own folly, cruelly armed against each 
other, and often as much their own as the enemies of their 
neiglibors, what is the purpose of that wisdom of which 
they boast? Is it not better to be without reason than to 
use her to authorize crimes ? Without flattering myself, I 
may say that a hog is a very good kind of animal : he 
makes neither false money nor false contracts, he never per- 
jures himself ; he cherishes neither avarice nor ambition, 
and he is without malice; he spends his life in eating, 
drinking, and sleeping. If men resembled our species the 
world would enjoy profound repose, and you would not be 
here — Paris would never have carried off Helen — the 
Greeks would not have destroyed the splendid city of Trov, 
after a siege of ten years — you would not have wandered 
over sea and land, the sport of fortune, and it would not 
be necessary that you should make war with a crowd of 
usurpers to recover your own kingdom. 

Uli/sses. — I am astonished at your stupidity ; but you 
must admit that the immortality reserved for man after this 
life elevates him infinitely above brutes ? 

Gryllus.—li you could convince me that man is an 
immortal being, I am not such a brute as to renounce the 
nature which 3'ou hold in honor. Persuade me that man 
has in him something more noble than his body which shaJl 
?ive forever. Because I am not convinced, of this, I persist 
in being a hog. Show me that that which thinks in man 
exists after his body is decayed and dissolved. If you will 
assure me that man can never die, and that virtue has its 
reward in another life, instantly, divine son of Laertes, I will 
share with you all the dangers that await you ; I will gladly 
come out of the sty of Circe ; I will divest myself of this 
sensual body, and become a man raised to the enjoyments 
of an immortal being. But in no other way can I accept 
your offer to restore my lost shape. I love rather to be a 
mei-e animal, satisfied with the proper nature of animals, 
than to be a man, feeble, ignorant, frivolous, malignant, 
insincere or unjust, or to be a melancholy phantom discon- 
tented with life, and in the dark concerning eternity. 

When Gryllus declares he would rather be a brute than 
a melancholy phantom, &c., he is made to allude to the 
admission of Ulysses to the eternal world. In the eleventh 
19* 



222 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

book of the Odyssey, Ulysses is sent to the shades — the 
abodes of departed souls — and the dead are described, not 
as happy, but sad and dispirited in their final lot. This 
view of another life is such, that one rather than be sub- 
jected to eternal discontent, might naturally choose to be 
exempted from immortality. 

Fenelon meant to teach by this dialogue, that the exist- 
ence of brutes is the gift of a benevolent God, and that 
they are as happy as the means and faculties vpliich God 
allots to them will permit; that man, when he is selfish, 
cruel, and false-hearted, when he is without benevolence, 
without knowledge, and without a true religion, is as mis- 
erable as he is degraded ; and that the religion of the 
heathens was so insufficient to make them happy and 
good, that another and more perfect religious system was 
necessary to reclaim them from their vices, and to satisfy 
their hopes. This religion he would imply, and it may 
readily be perceived, is the religion of Christ, which 
establishes that fact most important to our satisfaction 
in this life, that there is another and an eternal world, \\\ 
which we shall be delivered from the afflictions of this 
state of being, and be admitted to perfect and unending 
happiness. 

Apollo. A heathen god — sometimes called the " god 
of health, and light, and arts" — properly the sun. The 
sun, by his genial and happy influence upon the human 
body, produces health and agreeable sensations ; but by 
the intensity of his heat in some seasons and climates, he 
becomes apparently the effective cause of disease. Light 
is well known to emanate directly from the sun. It may 
be conceived that music, eloquence, and poetry are inspir- 
ed by that luminary ; and darkness and obscurity are figu- 
rative expressions for ignorance, stupidity, and the absence 
of all accomplishments. Without the " blessed sun " we 
could not perceive nor communicate anything but sound, 
and music itself may derive much beauty from the cheerful 
ideas connected Avith light. 

Minerva. Gryllus says of Ulysses, "you are as per- 
suasive as Minerva'' Minerva is "sometimes called Pallas, 
and sometimes Athense : she was the tutelary genius of 
Athens. In that city, her temple and the services per- 
formed in honor of her, were more splendid than any where 
else — the Athenians expressing by this homage their cha- 



WISDOM. 223 

racter, more intellectual and spiritual than the rest of the 
heathen world. 

Minerva, or Wisdom, was the daughter of Jove, the 
supreme god of the heathens, and sprung from her father's 
head. This fable implies tliat God is the origin or begin- 
ning of Wisdom. 

God's ivisdom is infinite — extends through time and 
eternit)^, and to all beings and events, and appoints and 
executes all his laws. Mans wisdom extends to all his 
duties. Human ivisdom is like divine wisdom, but infi- 
nitely less in degree. It is sufficient to enable man to do 
right, to please God, and to make him happy. 

Solomon, in the book of Proverbs, has personified Wis- 
dom — that is, spoken of this moial attribute of God as of 
an intelligent and living being. The power and virtue 
which the heathens imputed to Mi.ierva, are far less exalt- 
ed than the power and virtue of that Wisdom which the 
king of Israel described. 

Solomon makes Wisdom say, " I love them that love 
me ; and those that seek me early shall find me. Receive 
my instruclion and not silver ; and knowledge rather than 
choice gold. Riches and honor are with me : yea, durable 
riches and righteousness. Hear instruction and be wise, 
and refuse it not. He that sinneth against me wrongeth 
his own soul. ye simple, understand wisdom : and, ye 
fools, be ye of an understanding heart. Hear : for I will 
speak of excellent things ; and the opening of my lips shall 
be of right things. 

" The Lord possessed me in the beginning of his way, 
before his works of old. I was set up from everlasting, 
from the beginning, or ever the earth was. When there 
were no depths, I was brought forth ; when there were no 
fountains abounding with water. Before the mountains 
were settled, before the hills was I brought forth: while 
as yet he had not made the earth, nor the fields, nor the 
hight'st part of the dust of the world. 

"When he prepared the heavens I was there: when he 
set a compass upon the face of the earth : when he estab- 
lished the clouds above : when lie strengthened the foun- 
tains of the deep : when he gave to the sea his degree, 
that the waters should not pass his commandment : when 
he appointed the foundations of the earth ; then I was by 



224 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

him, as one brought up with him : and I was daily his 
delight, rejoicing always before him." 

Circe's palace. 

The following description of Circe's palace, and of the 
transformations she wrought, is taken from the tenjth book 
of tlie Odj'ssey. 

The palace in a woody vale they found, 
High raised of stone ; a shaded space around : 
Where mountain wolves and brindled lions roam> 
(By magic tamed) famihar to the dome. 
With gentle blandishment our men they meet. 
And wag their tails, and fawning lick their feet. 
As from some feast a man returning late, 
His faithful dogs all meet him at the gate, 
Rejoicing round some morsel to receive, 
(Such as the good man ever used to give.) 
Domestic thus the grisly beasts draw near ; 
They gaze with wonder, not unmixed with fear. 
Now on the threshold of the dome they stood. 
And heard a voice resounding through the wood t 
Placed at her loom within, the goddess sung; 
The vaulted roofs and solid pavement rung. 
O'er the fair web the rising figures shine. 
Immortal labor ! worthy hands divine. 
Polites to the rest the question moved, 
(A gallant leader, and a man I loved.) 

' What voice celestial, chanting to the loom 
(Or nymph, or goddess) echoes from the room ? 
Say shall we seek access ? with what they call ? 
And wide unfold the portals of the hall.' 

The goddess rising, asks her guests to stay. 
Who blindly follow where she leads the way. 
Eurylochus alone of all the band. 
Suspecting fraud, move prudently remained. 
On thrones around with downy coverings graced, 
With semblance fair the unhappy men she placed. 
Milk newly pressed, the sacred flour of wheat, 
And honey fresh, and Pramnian wines the treat: 
But venomed was the bread, and mixed the bowl 
With drugs of force to darken all the soul : 



HOMER. 226 

Soon in the luscious feast themselves they lost, 
And drank oblivion of their native coast, 
Instant her circling wand the goddess waves. 
To hogs transforms them, and the sty receives. 
No more was seen the human form divine ; 
Head, face, and members, bristle into swine : 
Still curst with sense, their minds remain alone. 
And their own voice affrights them wlien they groan. 
Meanwliile the goddess in disdain bestows 
The mast and acorn, brutal food ! and stows 
The fruits of cornel, as their feast around ; 
Now prone and groveling on unsavory ground. 

When Ulysses was absent, the princes and noblemen of 
the neighboring countries went into his kingdom, lived in 
his palace, fed upon his flocks, and severally demanded the 
queen Penelope in marriage — these in the Odyssey, are 
called the Suitors. 

Penelope, who loved her husband, refused them all, and 
lived with her son Telemachus in Ithaca, always in hopes 
of the return of Ulysses. After twenty years from his 
departure for Troy, he again entered the walls of his 
palace in the disguise of a beggar : he was treated with 
kindness by the Queen and Telemachus, but with contempt 
and insolence by the Suitors ; however, he was soon recog- 
nized by an old domestic. In due time he declared him- 
self, and with his son and their faithful adherents, killed 
the Suitors, and was restored to his ancient dignity. 



A very interesting account is given of the dog Argus, 
who recognized his master Ulysses, when he approached 
his palace, attended by Eumaeus, an old servant. This 
sagacious dog has been celebrated for three thousand 
years, and his history is thus related in the Odyssey. 

Thus near the gates conferring as they drew, 
Argus, the dog his ancient master knew ; 
He, not unconscious of the voice, and tread, 
Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head ; 
Bred by Ulysses, nourished at his board. 
But ah ! not fated long to please his lord ! 



226 POKTRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

To him, his swiftness and his strength were vain; 
The voice of glory called him o'er the main. 
Till then in every sylvan chase renowned, 
With Argus, Argus, rung the woods around ; 
With hifxi the youth pursued the goat or fawn, 
Or traced the mazy leveret o'er the lawn. 
Now left to man's ingratitude he lay, 
Unhoused, neglected in the public way ; 
And where on heaps the rich manure was spread, 
Obscene with reptiles, took his sordid bed. 

He knew his lord ; he knew, and strove to meet ; 
In vain he strove, to crawl, and kiss his feet: 
Yet (all he could) his tail, his ears, his eyes, 
Salute his master, and confess his jovs. 
Soft pity touched the mighty master's soul ; 
Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole. 
Stole unperceived ; he turned his head, and dried 
The drop humane; then thus impassioned cried: 

What noble beast in this abandoned state 
Lies here all helpless at Ulysses' gate ? 
His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise; 
If, as he seems, he ivas in better days. 
Some care his age deserves : or was he prized 
For worthless beauty ; therefore now despised ! 
Such dogs, and men there are, mere things of state, 
And always cherished by their friends, the great. 

Not Argus so (Eumaeus thus enjoined) 
But served a master of a nobler kind, 
Who never, never shall behold him more ! 
Long, long since perished on a distant shore ! 
Oh had you seen him, vigorous, bold, and young. 
Swift as a stag, as a lion strong ; 
Him no fell savage on the plain withstood, 
None 'scaped him, bosomed in the gloomy wood ; 
His eye how piercing, and his scent how true, 
To wind the vapor in the tainted dew ! 
Such, when Ulysses left his natal coast i 
Now years unnerve him, and his lord is lost ! 
The women keep the generous creature bare, 
A sleek and idle race is all their care : 
The master gone, the servants what restrains ? 
Or dwells Humanity where Riot reigns ? 



HOMER. 227 

Jove fixed it certain, that whatever day 
Makes man a slave, takes half his worth away. 

ULYSSEs' DOG. 

When wise Ulysses, from his native coast 
Long kept by wars, and long by tempests tost. 
Arrived at last, poor, old, disguised, alone, 
To all his friends, and e'en his queen, unknown. 
Changed as he was with age, and toils, and cares, 
Furrowed his reverend face, and white his hairs; 
In his own palace forced to ask his bread. 
Scorned b}^ those slaves his former bount}'^ fed. 
Forgot of all his own domesLic crew ; 
The faithful dog alone his master knew ; 
Unfed, unhoused, neglected, on the clay, 
Like an old servant, now cashiered, he laj' ; 
And, though e'en then expiring on the plain. 
Touched with resentment of ungrateful man. 
And longing to behold his ancient lord again. 
Him when he saw, he rose, and crawled to meet — 
'T was all he could, — and fawned, and kissed his feet, 
Seized with dumb joy ; then following by his side, 
Owned his returning lord, looked up, and died, 

GREEK POETS. 

It is not the province of a teacher limited to a literature 
purel}^ English to afford much knowledge of the writers of 
ancient Greece. But these writers have recorded the reli- 
gion, the moral sentiments, the domestic manneis, and the 
public amusements of the Greeks ; and matters of fact in 
relation to this people, if not the elegance of their language 
and the utmost refinement of their thoughts, are offered to 
common readers in the form of translation. 

The connexion of the Greek literature with the English, 
is derived from this circumstance, that the greater part of 
our writers are classical scholars — have been instructed in 
the language and literature of Greece ; and those who 
have not been thus instructed, have been informed in the 
spirit of the Greek literature by the acquaintance with 
books and scholars, so that young persons who cultivate 
any knowledge of the literature of their own language, 



228 POKTRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

have need of some elementary information concerning the 
Greek. 

The translations of Homer and the Greek dramatists are 
the best means which merely English students have to 
inform themselves of the fables, the religion, the public 
amusements, and the domestic life of the Greeks. Theat- 
rical amusements are not approved by many religious 
persons, but, dramatic literature — written plays — include 
so much of the poetry of Greece and England that it is 
difficult to exclude it from the liberal studies of any young 
person. 

The origin and progress of the Drama among the Greeks 
cannot be an unsuitable illustration of a collection of 
poetry, of which the professed object is to connect poetry 
with the history of nations, and the progress of society. 



^SCHYLUS. 

-^schylus was an Athenian of an honorable family, 
distinguished for the sublimity of his genius and the ardor 
of his martial spirit. In his youth he had read Homer 
with the warmest enthusiasm ; and finding his great master 
unrivalled in the Epic, he early conceived the design of 
creating a new province for himself, and forming a new 
drama; so much we may be allowed to infer from the 
fable, that whilst he was yet a boy Bacchus appeared to 
him as he lay asleep in a vineyard, and commanded him 
to write tragedies. This noble design he soon executed, 
and before the twenty-fiftl) year of his age began to enter- 
tain his countrymen with representations worthy of an 
Athenian audience. 

He had pursued these studies about ten years, when 
Darius invaded Greece. His generals, Datis and Artapher- 
nes, with an army of ten thousand foot and two thousand 
horse, were now advanced to the plains of Marathon, distant 
only ten miles from Athens. The danger which threatened 
his country called forth the martial spirit of our poet ; and 
very honorable mention is made of liim and his two 
brothers, Cynaegirus and Amynias, for their eminent valor in 



^SCHTLUS. 229 

that battle. To have wanted courage on such an occasion 
would have been a mark of the most abject baseness ; but 
to be distinguished in an action whei-e every soldier was a 
hero is a proof of superior merit. In a picture representing 
the battle of Marathon the portrait of ^sch}'lus was drawn ; 
this was all the honor that Miltiades himself received from 
the state for his glorious conduct on that day. He was 
placed at the head of the ten commanders, and drawn in the 
act of encourao'ing the soldiers and bemnnincr the battle. 

Some time after, Cynsegirus was one of the four naval 
commanders, who with an armament of one thousand 
Grecians, defeated thirty thousand Persians ; but he lost his 
life in the action. 

Ten years after the battle of Marathon, when Xerxes 
made that immense preparation to revenge the defeat of his 
father, we find the two surviving brothers exerting their 
courage in the sea-fight off Salamis ; here Amynias, too 
boldly laying hold of a Persian ship, had his hand lopped 
off with a sabre ; but ^schylus defended him and saved 
his life ; and the Athenians decreed him the first honors 
because he was the first to attack the commander of the 
Persian fleet, shattered the ship to pieces, and killed the 
Satrap. It is observed that the two brothers were ever 
after inseparable. The following year jEschylus acquired 
fresh glory in the battle of Plataea, where the brave Persian, 
Mardonius, was defeated and slain. 

Having taken this active part in the three most memorable 
battles that grace the annals of Greece, and distinguished 
himself as a good citizen and a brave man, he returned 
with ardor to his former studies, and completed his design, 
of making the drama a regular, noble, and rational enter- 
tainment. He wrote about seventy tragedies, and was in 
great esteem with his countrymen ; but upon some disgust 
in the latter part of his life he retired from Athens to the 
court of Hiero king of Sicily, where, about three years after, 
he died, in the sixty-ninth year of his age. B.C. 456. 

The tragedy of the Furies gave great offence ; and the 
poet, whether for that or some other pretence, was accused 
of impiety. His brother Amynias pleaded his cause ; the 
Athenians were struck with this instance of fraternal affec- 
tion ; they reverenced their maimed veteran, and ^schylus 
was acquitted. But such a spirit was not formed to submit 
to the affront ; it made too deep an impression to be effaced ; 
20 



230 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

and the poet quitted the city with great indignation, declar- 
ing with a noble pride that he would rather trust his 
tragedies to posterity, certain that he should receive from 
them the honor he deserved. This honor the Athenians 
soon paid to his noble works. By a decree of the senate, 
never granted to any other, they offered rewards to any 
man that should again exhibit his plays ; they frequently 
adjudged the prize lo him after his decease, and acknowledged 
him the Father of Tragedy. 

The Grecians, advancing in polished manners, carried 
into their towns a feast that sprung from the leisure of their 
country ; their best poets took a pride in composing these 
religious hymns to the honor of Bacchus, and embellished 
them with agreeable entertainments of music and dancing. 
After a length of time, the songs advancing in perfection, it 
was found necessary to give the singer some relief; and that 
the company might be amused during the pauses of the 
music, an actor was introduced ; his part could be no other 
than a single speech, setting forth that lie represented Her- 
cules, or Theseus, or some otlier hero of antiquity, and had 
performed such or such an illustrious achievement. At the 
next pause another personated character advanced ; at the 
next another ; but each unrelated and unconnected with the 
other. 

Such was the rude state of tragedy when jEschylus con- 
ceived the great design of forming a new species of poetry 
that should rival even the Epic in dignity. The humble 
arbor, interwoven with vine branches, gave place to scenes 
of astonishinjT o^randeur ; the actor, no longer mounted on 
the cart of Thespis, with his face smeared over with lees of 
wine, or covered with a mask formed from the bark of a 
tree, now trod a spacious stage, magnificently habited in a 
robe of honor and the stately buskin ; even the mask wore 
a new and elegant form, expressive of the character repre- 
sented. 

These exterior decorations were proofs only of the taste 
of ^Eschylus ; his superior genius appeared in giving life to 
the piece, by introducing the dialogue, without which there 
could be no action ; and from this circumstance it is that he 
is, with the highest propriety, called the Father of the 
Drama. It is commonly said that J^^schyhis never produced 
more than two speakers upon the stage at the same time ; 
there are proofs to the contrary, though he generally 



^SCH YLITS . 231 

adhered to that simple plan ; but the new part vrhich the 
Cliorus now took amply supplied what we should call that 
poverty of the stage. 

Chorus. — In the ancient tragedy a number of persons, 
sufficient probably to giv^e animation to the appearance of 
the stage, joined in the representations of the drama — these 
formed the Chorus. The Chorus seems to consist of persons 
of a character that might naturally desire to be witnesses of 
the action represented. Sometimes they were the old men of 
a city who came to behold some public transaction, at others, 
the attendants of a great family, and at others, strangers 
apparently collected from curiosity. Their observations 
served to explain what would else be obscure, and to con- 
nect what would otherwise be broken and confused in the 
order of incident. 

SCENE FROM THE TRAGEDY OF AGAMEMNON. 

A Herald announces to Clytemnestra, the wife of Agamemnon, the 
destruction of Troy. 

CLYTEMNESTRA, CHORUS, AND HERALD. 

Herald. — Hail, thou paternal soil of Argive earth ! 
In the fair light of the tenth year to thee 
Returned, from the sad wreck of many hopes 
This one I save ; saved from despair e'en this ; 
For never thought I in this honored earth 
To share in death the portion of a tomb. 
Hail then, loved earth ; hail, thou bright sun ; and thou. 
Great guardian of my country. Supreme Jove ; 
Thou, Pythian king, thy shafts no longer winged 
For our destruction ; on Scamander's banks 
Enough we mourned thy wrath ; propitious now 
Come, king Apollo, our defence. And all 
Ye gods, that o'er the works of war preside, 
I now invoke thee. Thee, Mercury, my avenger, 
Revered by heralds, that from thee derive 
Their high employ. You heroes, to the war 
That sent us, friendly now receive our troops. 
The relics of the spear. 

Imperial walls. 
Mansion of kings, yea seats revered ; ye gods. 
That to the golden sun before these gates 



232 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Present your honored forms : if e'er of old 
Those eyes with favor have beheld the king, 
Receive him now, after this length of time, 
With glory ; for he comes, and with him brings 
To you, and all, a light that cheers this gloom ; 
Then greet him well : such honor is his meed. 
The mighty king, that with the mace of Jove 
The Avenger, wherewith he subdues the earth, 
Hath leveled with the dust the towers of Troy ; 
Their altars are overturned, their sacred shrines, 
And all the race destroyed. This iron yoke 
Fixed on the neck of Troy, victorious comes 
The great Atrides, of all mortal men 
Worthy of highest honors. Paris now 
And the perfidious state shall boast no more 
His proud deeds unrevenged ; stripped of his spoils. 
The debt of justice for his thefts, his rapines. 
Paid amply, o'er his father's house he spreads 
With two-fold loss the wide-involving ruin. 

Cliyt. Joy to thee, herald of the Argive host. 

Her. For joy like this, death were a cheap exchange. 

C'lyt. Strong thy affection to thy native soil. 

Her. So strong, the tear of joy starts from my eye. 

Clyt. What, hath this sweet infection reached e'en you ? 

Her. Beyond the power of language have I felt it. 

Cli/t. The fond desire of those whose equal love — 

Her. This of the army say'st thou, whose warm love 
Streams to this land ? is this thy fond desire ? 

Clyt. Such, that I oft have breathed the secret sigh. 

Her. Whence did the army cause this anxious sadness ? 

Clyt. Silence I long have held a healing balm. 

Her. The princes absent, hadst thou whom to fear ? 

Clyt. To use thy words, death were a wished exchange. 

Her. Well is the conflict ended. In the tide 
Of so long time if 'midst the easy flow 
Of wished events some tyrannous blast assail us. 
What marvel ? who, save the blest gods, can claim 
Through life's whole course an unmixed happiness ? 
Should I relate our toils, our wretched plight, 
Wedged in our narrow ill -provided cabins, 
Each irksome hour was loaded with fatigues. 
Yet these were slight essays to those worse hardships 
We sufl"ered on the shore ; our lodging near 



^ s c H V L u s . 233 

The wall of the enemy, the dews of heaven 
Fell on us from above, the damps beneath 
From the moist marsh annoyed us, shrouded ill 
In shaggy coverings. Or should one relate 
;The winter's keen blasts, which from Ida's snows 
"Breathe frore, that, pierced through all their plumes, the 

birds 
Shiver and die ; or the extreme heat that scalds, 
When in his mid-day caves the sea reclines. 
And not a breeze disturbs his calm repose. 

But why lament these sufferings ? they are past; 
Past to the dead indeed ; they lie, no more 
Anxious to rise. What then avails to count 
Those whom the wasteful war hath swept away, 
And with their loss afflict the living ? rather 
Bid we farewell to misery ; in our scale. 
Who haply of the Grecian host remain. 
The good preponderates, and in counterpoise 
Our loss is light ; and after all our toils 
By sea and land, before yon golden sun 
It is our glorious privilege to boast. 
At length from vanquished Troy our warlike troops 
Have to the gods of Greece brought home these spoils, 
And in their temples, to record our conquests. 
Fixed these proud trophies. Those that hear this boast 
It well becomes to gratulate the state 
And the brave chiefs : revering Jove's high power 
That graced our conquering arms. Thou hast my message. 

Pythian king. Apollo was called so because he slew 
the serpent Python. This is figurative : Python was Dis- 
ease or Malady, and, as an enemy to the human constitution, 
is called a serpent. Apollo being the god of health, the 
healer or destroyer of disease, is described as having slain a 
serpent. 

Thy shafts no longer winged for our destruction. This 
alludes to that pestilence in the Greek camp which is de- 
scribed in the first book of the Iliad. The instant;meous 
operation of the pest causes its effects to be compared to the 
sudden and mortal wound of an arrow from the bow. This 
pestilence is ascribed by Homer to Apollo as a punishment 
for the affront offered to his priest Chryses. 
20* 



234 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Mercury, as the messenger of the gods, was esteemed 
the patron of heralds, whose character therefore was always 
held sacred. 



SOPHOCLES. 

Sophocles, surnamed the Bee and the Attic Siren, was 
born at Athens, in the year 495 B. C. He gave early 
proofs of his talent for poetry, and aptitude for the business 
of government. He reached the dignity of Archon, and, 
in this capacity, commanded the armies of the republic of 
Athens, with considerable reputation. As a tragic writer, 
he shared the favor of the Athenian public with Euripides, 
his contemporary and rival. Sophocles died at an advanced 
age. Some of his biographers relate that he expired from 
an ecstasy of joy, produced by his having carried the prize 
at the Olympic Games. But his number of years may 
alone account for his dissolution. He is said to have com- 
posed one hundred and twenty tragedies, of which seven 
only remain. 

ANTIGONE. 

The character of Antigone, as she is represented by 
Sophocles, is that of the loveliest and best of women. She 
was the daughter of QEdipus, king of Thebes. Her father 
being driven from his kingdom, and having in despair torn 
out his eyes, his faithful and patient child follows his wan- 
derinfjs, and soothes his sufFerinrjs as longr as he lives. 
When her father is no more, she is afflicted by the discord 
of her brothers, and the persecutions of her uncle Creon. 
Her affection, fortitude, and undismayed sense of duty are 
woithy of a Chi'istian heroine. 

To illustrate the dialogue which follows, these notes are 
extracted from Francklin's Sophocles. 

Eteocles and Polynices, sons of the unfortunate CEdi- 
pus, having an equal claim to the kingdom of Thebes, had 
agreed to divide the power, and to reign year by year 
filternately ; but Eteocles, stepping first into the throne, 



SOPHOCLES. 235 

and tasting the sweets of sovereignly, bri)ke the contract, 
and maintained himself in the possession of his dominions ; 
Polynices, in revenge, raised an army of Aigives, and made 
an incursion on Thebes ; a battle ensued, and, after mucli 
slaughter on both sides, the brothers agreed to decide it by 
'Single combat ; they fought, and were slain by each otlier. 

After the death of the brothers, the kingdom of 
Thebes devolved to their uncle Creon, whose first act of 
supreme power was an ediit forbidding all rites of sepul- 
ture to Polynices as a traitor ; and pronouncing inst;int 
death on any who should dare to bury him. Here the 
action of the tragedy commences, the subject of whicli is 
the piety of Antigone in opposition to the edict of Creon, 
with the distresses consequent upon it. Antigone calls her 
sister out of the palace into the adjoining area, to inform 
her of the decree which had been issued on the preceding 
day, and her resolutions concerning it. 

Of all the honors paid to the dead by the ancients, the 
care of their funerals was looked upon by them as most 
necessary and indispensable ; as to be deprived of sepul- 
ture was accounted the greatest misfortune, and the highest 
injury. No imprecation was therefore so terrible as that 
any person might ' die destitute of burial ;' it was not to 
be wondered at that they were thus solicitous about the 
interment of their dead, when they were strongly possessed 
with the opinion that the souls of the deceased could not 
be admitted into the Elysian shades, but wore forced to 
wander desolate and alone, till their bodies were com- 
mitted to the earth. Nor was it sufficient to be honored 
with the solemn performance of their funeral rites, except 
their bodies were prepared for burial by their relations, 
and interred in the sepulchres of their fathers. 

The importance attached by the Greeks to the rites of 
sepulture, is clear from that passage in Homer, in which 
Achilles is described as seeing, in a vision of the niglit, Ins 
friend Patroclus, who had recently been killed, and who 
reproaches him with neglecting the last duty to his 
remains : 



'T is true, 't is certain, man, though dead, retains 
Part of himself — the immortal mind remains. 



236 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

This night by friend so late in battle lost 
Stood at my side, a pensive, plaintive ghost. 
* Sleeps ray Achilles' — thus the phantom said — 
'Sleeps my Achilles — his Patroclus dead? 
Living I seemed his dearest, tenderest care, 
But now forgot I wander in the air. 
Let my pale corse the rites of burial know, 
And give me entrance to the realm below : 
Till then the spirit finds no resting place ' 

ANTIGONE AND ISMENE. 

Ant. ! my dear sister, my best-beloved Ismene, 
Is there an evil, by the wrath of Jove 
Reserved for CEdipus' unhappy race, 
We have not felt already ? Sorrow and shame, 
And bitterness and anguish, all that's sad, 
All that's distressful hath been ours, and now 
This dreadful edict from the tyrant cames 
To double our misfortunes ; hast thou heard 
What harsh commands he hath imposed on all, 
Or art thou still to know what future ills 
Our foes have yet in store to make us wretched ? 

Ism. Since tliat unhappy day, Antigone, 
When by each other's hand our brothers fell, 
And Greece dismissed her armies, I have heard 
Nought that could give or joy or grief to me. 

Ant. I thought thou wert a stranger to the tidings ; 
And therefore called thee forth, that here alone 
I might impart them to thee. 

Ism. O ! what are they ? 

For something dreadful labors in my breast. 

Ant. Know then, from Creon, our indulgent lord, 
Our hapless brothers met a different fate. 
To nonor one, and one to infamy 
He hath consigned ; with funeral rites he graced 
The body of our dear Eteocles, 
Whilst Polynices' wretched carcass lies 
Unburied, unlamented, left exposed 
A feast for hungry vultures on the plain ; 
No pitying friend will dare to violate 
The tyrant's harsh command, for public death 
Awaits the offender ; Creon comes himself 



SOPHOCLKS. 23^ 

To tell us of it, such is our condition ; 
This is the crisis, this the hour, Ismene, 
That must declare thee worthy of thy birth, 
Or show thee mean, base, and degenerate. 

Ism. What wouldst thou have me do ? defy his power ? 
Contemn the laws ? 

Ant. To act with me, or not : 

Consider and resolve. 

Ism. What daring deed 

Wouldst thou attempt — what is it ? — speak. 

Ant. To join 

And take the body, ray Ismene. 

Ism. Ha 1 

A.nd wouldst thou dare to bury it, when thus 
"V^e are forbidden ? 

Ant. Ay, to bury him : 

He is my brother, and thine too, Ismene ; 
Theiefore consent or not, I have determined. 
I'll ntt disgrace my birth. 

Ism. Hath not the king 

Pronomced it death to all ? 

Ant. He hath no right, 

No powei to keep me from my own. 

Ism. Alas ! 

Remember -)ur unhappy father's fate, 
And last, in »ne sad day, Eteocles 
And Polynice; by each other slain. 
Left as we are^ deserted and forlorn, 
What from our disobedience can we hope 
But misery and ) lin ? Poor, weak women, 
Helpless, nor formHd by nature to contend 
With powerful mat. We are bis subjects too ; 
Therefore to this, aid worse than this, my sister. 
We must submit. F^r me, in humblest prayer 
Will I address me to tie infernal powers 
For pardon of that crimv which well they know 
Sprang from necessity, aid then obey : 
Since to attempt that we Oin never hope 
To execute, is folly all and -nadness. 

Ant. Wert thou to proffei what I do not ask. 
Thy poor assistance, I would scorn it now : 
Act as thou will; I'll bury hin myself; 
Let me perform but that, and Ojath is welcome ; 



238 POETRT FOR SCHOOLS. 

I'll do the pious deed, and lay me down 

By my dear brother ; loving and beloved 

We'll rest together ; to the powers below 

'T is fit we pay obedience ; longer there 

We must remain than we can breathe on earth; 

There I shall dwell for ever ; thou, meantime, 

What the gods hold most precious mayst despise. 

Ism. I reverence the gods ; but, in defiance 
Of laws, and unassisted to do this. 
It were most dangerous. 

Ant. That be thy excuse, 

Whilst I prepare the funeral pile. 

Ism. Alas ! 

I tremble for thee. 

Ant. Tremble for thyself, 

And not for me. 

Ism. O ! do not tell thy purpose, 

I beg thee, do not : I shall never betray thee. 

Ant. I'd have it known ; and I shall love thee less 
For thy concealment, than, if loud to all, 
Thou wouldst proclaim the deed. 

Ism. Thou hast a heart 

Too daring, and ill-suited to thy fate. 

Ant. I know my duty, and I'll pay it there, 
Where 't will be best accepted. 

Ism. Could'st thou do it ? 

But 'tis not in thy power. 

Ant. When I know that 

It will be time enough to quit my purpose. 

Ism. It cannot be ; 't is folly to attenvt it. 

Ant. Go on, and I shall hate thee ; oir dead brother. 
He too shall hate thee as his bitterest t)e ; 
Go, leave me here to suffer for my rashness ; 
Whate'er befalls, it cannot be so dreadful 
As not to die with honor. 

Ism. Then farewel. 

Since thou wilt have it so ; and ^now, Israene 
Pities thy weakness, but admirfi> thy virtue. 

Unlamented. — This was tie judgment which God de- 
nounced against Jehoiakin, kng of Judah : ' they shall not 
lament for him, saying, ai ! my brother, or ah ! sister ; 
they shall not lament for lim, saying, ah ! lord, or ah ! his 



EURIPIDES. 239 

glory ; he shall be buried with the burial of an ass,' &c. 
Jerem. xxii. 18, 19. The customs and manners of the 
Greeks were originally drawn from the eastern nations, 
which accounts for the similitude so observable of Soplio- 
cles and other heathen writers with some parts of holy 
writ. 



EURIPIDES. 

The prodigious armament, with which Xerxes invaded 
Greece, is well known : when he was advancing towards 
Attica, to revenge the defeat of his father's forces at 
Marathon, the Athenians, by the advice of Themistocles, 
retired with their effects to Salamis, Troezene, and ^gina. 
Among those who took refuge at Salamis, were Mnesar- 
chus and Clito, the parents of Euripides, who was born at 
that island on the very day in which the Grecians there 
gained that memorable victory over the Persian fleet. His 
parents educated their son with great attention, and at a 
considerable expense. Besides the athletic exercises, in 
which he excelled, he was taiight grammar, music, and 
painting. He applied himself to the study of oratory 
under the refined and learned Prodicus, who admitted none 
to his school but the sons of great and noble families ; the 
celebrated Pericles was also formed under this excellent 
master. 

Euripides studied philosophy with Anaxagoras, and con- 
tracted an early friendship with Socrates, who was twelve 
years younger than himself, and survived him almost six 
years ; this friendship, formed on the firmest principles of 
virtue and wisdom, and cemented by a similarity of man- 
ners and studies, continued indissoluble. These studies 
form the history of his life from the eighteenth to the 
seventy-second year of his age, during which time he com- 
posed seventy-five tragedies, frequently retiring to his native 
Salamis, and there indulging his melancholy muse in a rude 
and gloomy cavern. 

His reputation was now so illustrious, that Archelaus, 
king of Macedonia, invited him to his court ; thi^ monarch. 



240 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

to his many royal virtues, added a fondness for literature 
and the muses, and had drawn to him from Greece many 
who excelled in the polite arts, particularly those who were 
eminent for their learning and genius. Euripides, after 
much and earnest invitation, at length complied with the 
king's request, and went to Pella, whei-e he was received 
with every mark of esteem and honor. 

Arclielaus knew how to value a man of modesty and 
wisdom, a lover of truth and virtue ; but he particulaily 
admired the disinterestedness, the amiable candor, and 
gentleness of manners which distinguished Euripides, and 
made him worthy of the liberality, the esteem, and the 
affection of such a king. In this court at this time, among 
many other eminent men, were Agatho, an excellent tragic 
poet, an honest and agreeable man, a friend and admirer of 
Euripides ; Timotheus, the famous musician ; and Teuxis, 
the celebrated painter. In tliis society Euripides lived 
happy, beloved, and honored, and died lamented, in the 
third year after his coming to Macedonia, and the seventy- 
fifth year of his age, B, C. 406. Archelaus mourned for 
him as for a near relation, buried him among the kings of 
Macedonia, and erected a magnificent monument to his 
memory. 

The news of his death was brought to Athens as Sopho- 
cles was about to exhibit one of his tragedies. The poet 
on this occasion appeared in mourning, and .made his actors 
come upon the stage without crowns ; this great poet had 
long been the intimate friend of Euripides ; he was then 
in the ninetieth year of his age, and died about the end of 
this year. The Athenians immediately sent ambassadors 
to Archelaus. requesting his permission to remove the bones 
of Euripides into his own country : this the king and the 
Macedonians firmly refused ; as they could not obtain his 
ashes, they raised a cenotaph to their poet, in the way that 
led from the city to the Piraeus. 

IPHIGENIA, 

This interesting female was the daughter of Agamem- 
non, king of Mycenae, and leader of the expedition to 
Troy. When the whole Greek armament had assembled 
at Aulis, and were ready to depart, they were detained by 
contrary winds. To procure a safe departure, a horrible 



EURIPIDES. 241 

alternative is proposed to Agamemnon. He thus states 
it himself: 

" Collected and embodied, here we sit 

Inactive, and from Aulis wish to sail 

In vain. The prophet Calchas, 'midst the gloom 

That darkened on our minds, at length pronounced 

That Iphigenia, my virgin daughter, 

I to Diana, goddess of this land, 

Must sacrifice ; this victim given the winds 

Shall swell our sails, and Troy beneath our arms 

Be humbled in the dust ; but if denied, 

These things are not to be." 

Agamemnon feels himself compelled to make this cruel 
sacrifice. He acquaints his gentle child with what he 
deems this fatal necessitj', and he^" love of life for a while 
contends against it, but at length she yields. 

AGAMEMNON, IPHIGENIA, AND CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Iph. Had I, my father, the persuasive voice 
Of Orpheus, and his skill to charm the rocks 
To follow me, and soothe whome'er I please 
With winning words, I would make trial of it ; 
But I have nothing to present thee now 
Save tears, my only eloquence ; and those 
I can present thee. On thy knees I hang, 

A suppliant. 

Ah ! kill me not in youth's fresh prime. 
Sweet is the light of heaven : compel me not 
What is beneath to view. I was the first 
To call thee father, me thou first didst call 
Thy child : I was the first that on tliy knees 
Fondly caressed thee, and from thee received 
The fond caress. This was thy speech to me — 
Shall I, my child, ever see thee in some house 
Of splendor, happy in thy husband, live 
And flourish, as becomes my dignity? 
My speech to thee was, leaning 'gainst thy cheek 
Which with my hand I now caress. And what 
Shall I then do for thee ? Shall I receive 
My father when grown old, and in ray house 
Cheer him with each fond office, to repay 
The careful nurture which he gave my youth ? 
21 



242 P O E T K r KOR SCHOOLS. 

These words are on ray memory deep impressed, 
Thou hast forgot them, and wilt kill thy child. 
By Pelops I entreat thee, by thy sire 
Atreus, by this my mother, do not kill me. 
If Paris be enamoured of his bride, 
His Helen, what concerns it me, and how 
Comes he to my destruction ? 

Look upon me, 
Give me a smile, give me a kiss, my father. 
That if my words persuade thee not, in death 
I may have this memorial of thy love. 
My brother, small assistance canst thou give 
Thy friends, j^et for thy sister with thy tears 
Implore thy father that she may not die : 
E'en infants have a sense of ills : and see. 
My father, silent though he be, he sues 
To thee : be gentle to me, on my life 
Have pity. Thy two children by this beard 
Entreat thee, thy dear children ; one is yet 
An infant,* one to riper years arrived. 
I will sum all this, which shall contain 
More than long speech ; to view the light of life 
To mortals is most sweet, but all beneath 
Is nothing : of his senses is he reft 
Who hath a wish to die ; for life, though ill. 
Excels whate'er there is of good in death. 

Affa. What calls for pity, and what not, I know; 
I love my children, else I should be void 
Of reason ; to dare this is dreadful to me, 
And not to dare is dreadful. I perforce 
Must do it. What a naval camp is here 
You see, how many kings for Greece arrayed 
In glittering arms : to Ilium's towers are these 
Denied to advance, unless I offer thee 
A victim, thus the prophet Calchas speaks. 
Denied from her foundations to o'erturn 
Illustrious Troy : and through the Grecian host 
Maddens the fierce desire to sail with speed 
'Gainst the barbarian's land, and check their rage 
For Grecian dames : 

To this 
Not Menelaus, my child, hath wrought my soul, 

• Orestes.. 



EURIPIDES. 243 

Nor to his will am I a slave ; but Greece, 
For which, will I, or will I not, perforce 
Thee I must sacrifice : my weakness here 
I feel, and must submit. In thee, my child, 
What lies, and what in me, Greece should be free. 
Nor should her sons beneath barbarians bend, 
Their household joys to ruffian force a prey. 

Clyt. Alas, my child ! 
How wretched in thy death ! thy father flies thee, 
He flies, but dooms thee to the realms beneath. 

7^?A. My mother, hear ye now my words : for thee 

Offended with thy husband I behold : 

Vain anger ! for where force will take its way. 

To struggle is not easy. 

Hear then what to my mind 

Deliberate thought presents : it is decreed 

For me to die : this then I wish, to die 

With glory, all reluctance banished far. 

My mother, weigh this well, that what I speak 

Is honor's dictate : all the powers of Greece 

Have now their eyes on me ; on me depends 

The sailing of the fleet, the fall of Troy, 

And not to suff"er, should a new attempt 

Be dared, the rude barbarians from blest Greece 

To bear in future times her dames by force, 

This ruin bursting on them for the loss 

Of Helena, whom Paris bore away. 

By dying all these things shall I achieve. 

And blest, for that I have delivered Greece, 

Shall be my fame. 

To be too fond of life 

Becomes not me ; nor for thyself alone, 

But to all Greece a blessing didst thou bear me. 

Shall thousands, when their country's injured, lift 

Their shields, shall thousands grasp the oar, and dare, 

Advancing bravely 'gainst the foes, to die 

For Greece ? and shall my life, my single life 

Obstruct all this ? would this be just ? what word 

Can we reply ? 

****** 

If me 
'J'he chaste Diana wills t' accept, shall I, 
A mortal, dare oppose her heavenly will ? 



244 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Vain the attempt ; for Greece I give ni}^ life. 
Slay me, demolish Troy ; for these shall be 
Long time my monuments, my children these, 
My nuptials, and my glory. 

It is meet 
That Greece should o'er barbarians bear the sway, 
Not that barbarians lord it over Greece : 
Nature hath formed them slaves, the Grecians free. 

Not Menelaus, hut Greece, hath wrought my mind to this. 
— Not the persuasions of Menelaus, but the dreaded ven- 
geance of the Greeks upon us, if by foi'bearing to sacrifice 
thee, I should frustrate their present designs, determines mc 
to this unnatural act. The Hebrew scriptures record a 
sacrifice similar to this in that of Jephtha's daughter. 

Compel me not what is beneath to viev). — The pagan notion 
of death, as has been before observed, was that of descent, 
of darkness, and of doubt. It is the most welcome truth 
of Christianity, that it brings life and immortality to light ; 
and since the establishment of Christianity, the idea of the 
state after death includes that of purer elements than those 
of earth, and of powers to expatiate more extensively amidst 
the wonders of the universe. 



SOUTHEY, 



Robert Southey, who died in England, 1843, was an 
author distinguished in the various departments of Poetr}', 
History, and Biography. Thalaba, Madoc, the Curse of 
Kehama, and Roderick the Last of the Goths, are his prin- 
cipal poems. The last mentioned of these is the greatest 
favorite of the public, and deserves to be so. 

The poem of Roderick, &c., is founded, as the name im- 
ports, upon the history of the last Gothic King of Spain. 
Upon the dismemberment of the Roman Empire, Hispania, 
the modern Spain, was taken by those northern barbatians 
called Goths. The Goths established there a i-egal govei-n- 
ment, which subsisted from A.D. 411 to A.D. 712. Roder- 
ick, the Lcist of tjie Goths, had a private quarrel with a 



SOUTH EY. 245 

distinguished nobleman of his court, and the latter, indig- 
nant against the king, conspired with the Moors, a nation 
on the opposite shores of Africa, to dethrone Roderick and 
surrender the sovereignty to the Mooi's. 

The authenticity of this statement of the origin of the 
Moorish conquest of Spain is disputed — but it is the tradition 
of the Moors and Spaniards, and upon the assumed fact 
Southejr founded his poem. Many of Roderick's subjects 
remained faithful to him, but multitudes rebelled, and after 
a battle with the Moors and the rebels, Roderick is said to 
have disappeared, and never to have been found again, 
A.D. 712. 

The most faithful adherent of Roderick was Pelayo, a 
prince of his blood, who became the founder of a new king- 
dom, that of Asturias. Pelayo seeking liberty, and pre- 
ferring a desert to a state of bondage, led a few faithful 
followers to a sequestered spot enclosed by rocks in the 
interior of Asturias. Being a man of talent and integrity, 
he acquired an absolute ascendancy over his friends, and 
they appointed him their king. His subjects were few, and 
his territory barren rocks, but the men were faithful and 
courageous. Their asylum was discovered and invaded by 
the Moors, but the refugees defended themselves ; from 
this commencement originated the kingdom of Asturias, long 
one of the most powerful in Spain. Pelayo died in A.D. 
737. 

It may here be remarked that under the Moors, Spain 
was divided into several sovereignties. Kings of Asturias, of 
Oviedo, of Aragon, of Castile and Leon, were numbered 
among the princes of Spain. 

Mr. Southey supposes that immediately after his defeat 
Roderick sought a profound solitude, and in this situation 
he describes him. Roderick was accompanied in his con- 
cealment by Romano, an old man. who died and left the 
unhappy king alone. Roderick had been guilty of a crime, 
and self-reproach aggravated his affliction. 

RODERICK IN SOLITUDE. 

The fourth week of their painful pilgrimage 
Was full, when they arrived where from the land 
A rocky hill, rising with steep ascent, 
O'erhung the glittering beach ; there on the top 
21* 



246 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

A little lowly hermitage they found. 
And a rude cross, and at its foot a grave, 
Bearing no name nor other monument. 
Where better could they rest than here, where faith 
And secret penitence and happiest death 
Had blest the spot, and brought good angels down, 
And opened as it were a way to Heaven ? 
Behind them was the desert, offering fruit 
And water for their need ; on either side 
The white sand sparkling to the sun ; in front 
Great Ocean with its everlasting voice, 
As in perpetual jubilee, proclaimed 
The wonders of the Almighty, filling thus 
The pauses of their fervent orisons. 
Where better could the wanderers rest than here 1 
Twelve months they sojourned in their sohtude, 
And then beneath the burthen of old age 
Romano sunk. No brethren were there 
To spread the sackcloth, and with ashes strew 
The penitential bed, and gather round 
To sing his requiem, and with prayer and psalm 
Assist him in his hour of agony. 
He lay on the bare earth which long had been 
His only couch ; beside him Roderick knelt, 
Moistened from time to time his blackened lips, 
Received a blessing with his latest breath. 
Then closed his eyes, and by the nameless grave 
Of the fore- tenant of that holy place 
Consigned him earth to eaith. 

Two graves are here. 
And Roderick transverse at their feet began 
To break the third. In all his intervals 
Of prayer, save only when he searched the woods 
And filled the water-cruise, he labored there ; 
And when the work was done, and he had laid 
Himself at length within its narrow sides 
And measured it, he shook his head to think 
There was no other business now for him. 
Poor wretch, thy bed is readjs he exclaimed. 
And would that night were come ! ... It was a tas?:. 
All gloomy as it was, which had beguiled 
The sense of solitude ; but now he felt 
The burtheu of the solitary hours ; — 



souTiiEY> 247 

The silence of that lonely hermitage 
Lav on him like a spell ; and at the voice 
Of his own prayers he started, half aghast. 
Then too, as on Romano's grave he sate 
And pored upon his own, a natural thought 
Arose within him, . . well might he have spared 
That useless toil : the sepulchre would be 
No hiding place for him ; no Christian hands 
Were here who should compose his decent corpse 
And cover it with earth. There he might drag 
His wretched body at its passing hour, 
And there the sea-birds of her heritage 
Would rob the worm, or peradventure seize, 
Ere death had done its work, their helpless prey. 
Even now they did not fear him : when he walked 
Beside them on the beach, regardlessly 
They saw his coming ; and their whirring wings 
Upon the height had sometimes fanned his cheek, 
As if, being thus alone, humanity 
Had lost its rank, and the prerogative 
Of man was done away. 

For his lost crown 
And sceptre had he never felt a thought 
Of pain : repentance had no pangs to spare 
For trifles such as these, — the loss of these 
Was a cheap penalty : — that he had fallen 
Down to the lowest depth of wretchedness. 
His hope and consolation. But to lose 
His human station in the scale of things, — 
To see brute Nature scorn him, and renounce 
Its homage to the human form divine ; — 
Had then almighty vengeance thus revealed 
His pimishraent, and was he fallen indeed 
Below fallen man ? 

Oh for a voice 
Of comfort, — for a ray of hope from heaven ! 
A hand that from these billows of despair 
May reach and snatch him ere he sink engulphed ! 
At length, as life when it hath lain long time 
Opprest beneath some grievous malady. 
Seems to rouse up with i-e-collected strength, 
And the sick man doth feel within himself 
A second spring ; so Roderick's better mind 



248 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

Arose to save him. Lo ! the western sun 

Flames o'er the broad Atlantic ; on the verge 

Of glowing ocean I'ests ; retiring then 

Draws with it all its rays, and sudden night 

Fills the whole cope of heaven. The penitent 

Knelt by Romano's grave, and, falling prone, 

Claspt with extended arms the funeral mould. 

Father ! he cried ; companion, only friend. 

When all beside was lost ! thou too art gone. 

And the poor sinner whom fi-om utter death 

Thy providential hand preserved, once more 

Totters upon the gulf. I am too weak 

For solitude, — too vile a wretch to bear 

This everlasting commune with myself. 
****** 

Despair hath laid the nets 
To take my soul, and Memory, like a ghost. 
Haunts me, and drives me to the toils. Saint, 
While I was blest with thee, the hermitage 
Was my sure haven ! Look upon me still ; 
For from thy heavenly mansion thou canst see 
Thy suppliant ; look upon thy child in Christ. 

Romano ! Father ! let me hear thy voice 
In dreams, O sainted soul ! or from the grave 
Speak to thy penitent ; even from the grave 
Thine were a voice of comfort. 

Thus he cried. 
Easing the pressure of his burlheued heart 
With passionate prayer ; thus poured his spirit fortis 
Till the long effort had exhausted him, 
His spirit failed, and laying on the grave 
His weary head, as on a pillow, sleep 
Fell on him. He had prayed to hear a voice 
Of consolation, and in dreams a voice 
Of consolation came. Roderick, it said, — 
Roderick, my poor, unhappy, sinful child, 
Jesus have mercy on thee ! — Not if heaven 
Had opened, and Romano, visible 
In his beatitude, had breathed that prayer ; — 
Not if the grave had spoken, had it pierced 
So deeply in his soul, nor wrung his heart 
With such compunctious visilings, nor given 
So quick, so keen a pang. It was that voice 



SOUTHEY. 249 

Which sung his fretful infancy to sleep 

So patiently ; which soothed his childish griefs ; 

Counseled Avath anguish and prophetic tears 

His headstrong youth. And lo ! his mother stood 

Before him in the vision. 



PELAYO AND HIS CHILDREN. 

The ascending vale. 
Long straitened by the narrowing mountains, here 
Was closed. In front a rock, abrupt and bare, 
Stood eminent, in height exceeding far 
All edifice of human power, by king 
Or caliph, or barbaric sultan reared, 
Or mightier tyrants of the world of old, 
Assyrian or Egyptian, in their pride : 
Yet far above-, beyond the reach of sight, 
Swell after swell, the heathery mountain rose. 
Here, in two sources, from the living rock 
The everlasting springs of Deva gushed. 
Upon a smooth and grassy spot below. 
By Nature there as for an altar drest. 
They joined their sister stream, which from the earth 
Welled silently. 

In such a scene rude man 
With pardonable error might have knelt. 
Feeling a present Deity, and made 
His offering to the fountain nymph devout. 
The arching rock disclosed above the springs 
A cave, wliere hugest son of giant birth, 
Thai e'er of old in forest of romance 
'Gainst knights and ladies waged discourteous war. 
Erect within the portal might have stood. 
No holier spot than Covadonga, Spain 
Boasts in her wide extent, though all her realms 
Be with the noblest blood of martyrdom 
In elder or in latter days enriched, 
And glorified with tales of heavenly aid 
By many a miracle made manifest ; 
Nor in the heroic annals of her fame 
Doth she show forth a scene of more renown. 
Then, save the hunter, drawn in keen pursuit 
Beyond his wonted haunts, or shepherd's boy. 



250 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Following the pleasure of his strriggling flock, 
None knew the place. 

Pelayo, Avhen he saw 
Those aflitterinor sources and their sacred cave, 
Took from his side the bugle, silver-tipt. 
And with a breath long drawn and slow expired, 
Sent forth that strain, which, echoing from the walls 
Of Cangas, wont to tell his glad return 
When from the chase he came. At the first sound 
Favila started in the cave, and cried, 
My father's horn ! — A sudden flame suff"used 
Hei-mesind's cheek, and she with quickened eye 
Looked eager to her mother silently; 
But Gaudiosa trembled and gi-ew pale. 
Doubting her sense deceived. A second time 
The bugle breathed its well-known notes abroad ; 
And Hermesind around her mother's neck 
Threw her white arms, and earnestly exclaimed, 
'Tis he ! — But when a third and broader blast 
Rung in the echoing archway, ne'er did wand. 
With magic power endued, call up a sight 
So strange, as sure in that wild solitude 
It seemed, when from the bowels of the rock 
The mother and her children hastened forth. 

She in the sober charms and dignity 
Of womanhood mature, nor verging yet 
Upon decay ; in gesture like a queen, 
Such inborn and habitual majesty 
Ennobled all her steps, — or priestess, chosen 
Because within such faultless work of heaven 
Inspiring Deity might seem to make 
Its habitation known. — Favila such 
In form and stature as the Sea- Nymph's son, 
When that wise Centaur from his cave well-pleased 
Beheld the boy divine his growing strength 
Against some shaggy lionet essay. 
And fixing in the half-grown mane his hands, 
Roll with him in fierce dalliance intertwined. 

But like a creature of some higher sphere 
His sister came ; she scarcely touched the rock. 
So light was Herraesind's aerial speed. 
Beauty, and grace, and innocence, in her 
In heavenh' union shone. One who had held 



so UTHE Y. 251 

The faitli of elder Greece, would sure have thought 

She was some glorious nymph of seed divine. 

Oread or Dryad, of Diana's train 

The youngest and the loveliest : yea, she seemed 

Angel, or soul beatified, from realms 

Of bliss, on errand of parental love 

To earth re-sent, — 'if tears and trembling hmbs 

With such celestial natures might consist. 

Favila such 

In form and stature as the Sea Nymph's son, 

When that wise Centaur, &c. 

Achilles, the son of Thetis, a sea nymph, was educated in 
Thessaly by Chiron the Centaur. Favila, the son and suc- 
cessor of Pelayo, is here compared with the young Achilles. 

The faith of elder Greece. — This religion has been 
described with considerable effect by Mr. Percival, an 
American poet. 



RELIGION OF GREECE. 

There was a time, when the o'erhanging sky, 
And the fair earth with its variety. 
Mountain and valley, continent and sea. 
Were not alone the unmoving things that lie 
Slumbering beneath the sun's unclouded eye ; 
But every fountain had its spirit then. 
That held communion oft with holy men. 
And frequent from the heavenward mountain came 
Bright creatures, hovering round on wings of flame, 
And some mysterious sybil darkly gave 
Responses from the dim and hidden cave : 
Voices were heard waking the silent air, 
A solemn music echoed from the wood. 
And often from the bosom of the flood 
Came forth a sportive Naiad passing fair. 
The clear drops twinkling in her braided hair ; 
And as the hunter through the forest strayed, 
Quick-glancing beauty shot across the glade. 
Her polished arrow levelled on her brow. 
Ready to meet the fawn or bounding roe. 



252 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

Each lonely spot was hallowed then — the oak 
That o'er the village altar hung, would tell 
Strange hidden things ; — the old remembered well. 
How from its gloom a spirit often spoke. 
There was not then a fountain or a cave, 
But had its reverend oracle, and gave 
Responses to the fearful crowd, who came 
And called the indwelling deity by name ; 
Then every snowy peak, that lifted high 
Its shadowy cone to meet the bending sky, 
Stood like a heaven of loveliness and light : — 
And as the gilt cloud rolled its glory by, 
Chariots and steeds of flame stood harnessed there. 
And gods came forth and seized the golden reins, 
Shook the bright scourge, and through the boundless air 
Rode over starry fields and azure plains. 

It was a beautiful and glorious dream, 
Such as would kindle high the soul of song. 
All seemed one bright enchantment then ; — but now 
Since the long sought for goal of truth is won, 
Nature stands forth unveiled with cloudless brow. 
On earth One Spirit of Life, in heaven One. 

HEAVENLY LOVE. 

They sin who tell us Love can die. 
With life all other passions fly. 
All others are but vanity. 
In heaven Ambition cannot dwell. 
Nor Avarice in the vaults of hell , 
Earthly these passions of the earth, 
They perish where they have their birth : 
But Love is indestructible. 
Its holy flame for ever burnetii, 
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth ; 
Too oft on earth a troubled guest, 
At times deceived, at times opprest, 

It here is tried and puiified, 
Then hath in heaven its perfect rest ; 
It soweth here with toil and care, 
But the harvest time of Love is there. ' 



BYRON. 253 



LORD BYRON. 

George Gordon, Lord Byron, was an English nobleman, 
descended from Commodore Byron, the celebrated navi- 
gator. Lord Byron died at Missolonghi in Greece, April, 
1824, at the age of thirty-seven. He was distinguished at 
an early period of life for his poetical talents, and his 
genius, if it has not made men better, has opened a source 
of pleasure to the readers of poetry, which once enjoyed is 
never forgotten. 

The passages of Lord Byron's poetry which immediately 
succeed have as much life as sentiment, and on that 
account they are best adapted to the comprehension and 
sympathies of young persons. Two only, Night at Cor- 
inth, and Turkey, are purely descriptive. 

NIGHT AT CORINTH. 

In 1715, Corinth, situated on the Isthmus of that name, 
being in possession of the Venetians, was besieged by the 
Turks. Lord Byron describes the delicious nights of that 
fine climate in his poem, the Siege of Corinth. The night 
described is that previous to the taking of Corinth, while 
the Turkish army surrounded its walls. 

'T is midnight : on the mountains brown 

The cold round moon shines deeply down ; 

Blue roll the waters, blue the sky 

Spread like an ocean hung on high. 

Bespangled with those isles of light,* 

So wildly, spiritually bright ; 

Who ever gazed upon them shining, 

And turned to earth without repining, 

Nor wish'd for wings to flee away, 

And mix with their eternal ray ? 

The waves on either shore lay there 

Calm, clear, and azure as the air ; 

And scarce their foam the pebbles shook, 

But murmured meekly as the brook. 

• The stars. 
22 



254 POETRY FOR seilOOLS, ' "^ 

The winds were pillowed on the waves ; 
The banners drooped along their staves, 
And, as they fell around them furling, 
Above them shone the crescent curling ; 
And that deep silence was unbroke. 
Save where the watch his signal spoke, 
Save where the steed neighed oft and shrill. 
And echo answered from the hill, 
And the v/ild hum of that wild host 
Rustled like leaves from coast to coast, 
As rose the Muezzin's voice in air 
In midnight call to wonted prayer. 

The Mtiezsins voice. — The Turks do not use bells to 
summon the religious to their devotions. They have an 
appointed person, whose function it is to send forth to the 
extent of his voice, the call to wonted prayer. 

DECAPITATION OF HUGO. 

The marquis of Este, the sovereign of Ferrara in Italy, 
had a son named Hugo, and a beautiful young wife called 
Parasina. This lady loved Hugo better than his father, 
and was equally beloved by the young man. When the 
marquis was fully convinced of this fact, he ordered Hugo 
and Parasina to be beheaded, and the sentence was exe- 
cuted, according to Lord Byron's authority, about 1405. 
The execution of Hugo is described in the poem of 
Parasina. 

The Convent bells are ringing, 

But mournfully and slow ; 
In the gray square turret swinging, 

With a deep sound, to and fro. 
Heavily to the heart they go ! 

Hark ! the hymn is singing — 
The song for the dead below. 

Or the living who shortly shall be so ! 
For a departing being's soul 

The death-hymn peals and the hollow-bells knoll; 
He is near his mortal goal 
Kneeling at the Friar's knee ; 
Sad to hear — and piteous to see ; 



BYRON. "253 

Kneeling on the bare cold ground, 
With the block before and the guards around — 
While the crowd in a speechless circle gather. 
To see the Son fall by the doom of the father. 

It is a lovely hour as yet 
Before the summer sun shall set, 
Which rose upon that heavy day, 
And mock'd it with his steadiest ray; 
And his evening beams are shed 
Full on Hugo's fated head, 
As his last confession pouring 
To the monk, his doom deploring 
In penitential holiness, 
He bends to hear his accents bless 
With absolution, such as may 
Wipe our mortal stains away. 

That high sun on his head did glisten 
As he there did bow and listen — 
And the rings of chestnut hair 
Curled half down his neck so bare ; 
But brighter still the beam was throwing 
Upon the axe which near him shone 
With a clear and ghastly glitter — 
Oh that parting hour was bitter ! 
Even the stern stood chilled with awe: 
Dark the crime, and just the law — 
Yet they shuddered as they saw. 

The parting prayers are said and over 
Of that false son and daring lover ! 
His beads and sins are all recounted, 
His hours to their last minute mounted — 
His mantling cloak before was stripped. 
His bright brown locks must now be clipped; 
'T is done — all closely are they shorn — 
The vest which till this moment worn — 
The scarf which Parasina gave — 
Must not adorn him to the grave. 
Even that must now be thrown aside. 
And o'er his eyes the kerchief tied ; 
But no — that last indignity 
Shall ne'er approach his haughty eye. 
'No — ^yours my forfeit blood and breath — 



256 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

These hands are chained — but let me die 
At least with an unshackled eye — 
'Strike :' — and as the word he said, 
Upon the block he bowed his head ; 
These the last accents Hugo spoke : 
Strike ' — and flashing fell the stroke — • 
Rolled the head — and, gushing, sunk 
Back the stained and heaving trunk, 
In the dust, which each deep vein 
Slacked with its ensanguined rain ; 
His eyes and lips a moment quiver, 
Convulsed and quick — then fix for ever. 

THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 

The Prisoner of Chillon is a sweet and touching poem. 
Chillon is a ruined castle on the lake of Geneva in Switzer- 
land, in the dungeon of which three gallant brothers were 
confined, each chained to a separate pillar, till, after years 
of anguish, the two younger died, and were buried under 
the cold floor of the prison. The eldest was at length 
liberated, when worn out with age and misery — and is 
supposed, in his joyless liberty, to tell, in this poem, the 
sad story of his imprisonment. 

The annexed verses describe the sympathy of the un- 
happy brothers, the peculiar loveliness of the youngest, 
and the bitterness of sorrow with which the survivor 
deplored the fate of this " blooming Benjamin of the 
family." 

" We could not move a single pace. 
We could not see each other's face. 
But with that pale and livid light 
That made us strangers in our sight ; 
And thus together — yet apart 
Fettered in hand, but joined in heart ; 
'Twas still some solace in the dearth 
Of the pure elements of earth. 
To hearken to each other's speech, 
And each turn comforter to each, 
With some new hope, or legend old. 
Or song heroically bold ; 
But even these at length grew cold. 



B V R O N , 257 

Our voices took a dreary tone, 

An echo of the dungeon-stone, 

A grating sound — not full and free 

As they of yore were wont to be ; 

It might be fancy — but to me 

They never sounded like our own. 
* " * * * * * 

' I was the eldest of the three, 
And to uphold and cheer the rest 
I ought to do — and did ray best — 
And each did well in his degree. 
The youngest whom my father loved. 
Because our mother's brow was given 
To him — with eyes as blue as heaven. 
For him my soul was sorely moved ; 
And truly might it be distrest 
To see such bird in such a nest ; 
He was the favorite and the flower, 
Most cherished since his natal hour; 
His mother's image in fair face, 
The infant love of all his race, 
His martyred father's dearest thought. 
My latest care, for whom I sought 
To hoard my life, that his might be 
Less wretched now, and one day free 
He, too, who yet had held untired 
A spirit natural or inspired — 
He, too, was struck, and day by day 
Was withered on the stalk away. 
" Oh God ! it is a fearful thing 
To see the human soul take wing 
In any shape, in any mood : — 
I've seen it rushing forth in blood, 
I've seen it on the breaking ocean 
Strive with a swollen convulsive motion; 
I've seen the sick and ghastly bed 
Of sin delirious with its dread : 
But these were horrors — This was wo 
Unmixed with such — but sure and slow ; 
He faded, and so calm and meek. 
So softly worn, so sweetly weak. 
So tearless, yet so tender — kind, 
And grieved for those he left behind ; 
22* 



258, POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

With all the while a cheek whose bloom 
Was as a mockery of the tomb. 
Whose tints aa gently sunk away 
As a departing rainbow's ray — 
An eye of most transparent light 
That almost made the dungeon bright. 
! And not a word of murmur — not 

A groan o'er his untimely lot. 

" A little talk of better days, 
A Httle hope my own to raise, 
For I was sunk in silence — lost 
In this last loss, of all the most ; 
And then the sighs he would suppress 
Of fainting nature's feebleness, 
More slowly drawn, grew less and less: 
I listened but I could not hear — 
I called, for I was wild with fear ; 
I knew 't was hopeless, but ray dread 
Would not be thus admonished ; 
I called, and thought I heard a sound 
I burst my chain with one strong bound. 
And rushed to him : — I found him not, 
/ only stirred in this black spot, 
/ only lived — / only drew 
The accursed breath of dungeon dew." 



TURKEY. 

Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle 

Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime ? 

Where the Ta.ge of the vulture, the love of the turtle. 

Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime ? 

Know ye the land of the cedar and vine. 

Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shme 

Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume ; 

Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul* in her bloom ; 

Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, 

And the voice of the nightingale never is mute : 

Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, 

In color though varied, in beauty may vie, 

And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye ; 

• Gui.— The rose. 



BYRON. 259 

Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, 
And all, save the spirit of man, is divine ? 
'Tis the clime of the east ; 'tis the land of the Sun — 
Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done ? 
Oh ! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell 
Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they 
tell. 



VISION OF BELSHAZZAR 

The king was on his throne, 

The satraps thronged the hall; 
A thousand bright lamps shone 

O'er that high festival. 
A thousand cups of gold. 

In Judah deemed divine — 
Jehovah's vessels hold 

The godless heathen's wine ! 

In that same hour and hall, 

The fingers of a hand 
Come forth against the wall, 

And wrote as if on sand : 
The fingers of a man ; 

A sohtary hand 
Along the letters ran, 

And traced them like a wand. 

The monarch saw, and shook, 

And bade no more rejoice ; 
All bloodless waxed his look, 

And tremulous his voice. 
" Let the men of lore appear, 

The wisest of the earth, 
And expound the words of fear, 

Which mar our royal mirth." 

Chaldea's seers are good, 
But here they have no skill ; 

And the unknown letters stood 
Untold and awful still. 



260 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

And Babel's men of age 

Are wise and deep in lore ; 
But now they were not sage. 

They saw — but knew no more. 

A captive in the land, 

A stranger and a youth, 
He heard the king's command, 

He saw that writing's truth. 
The lamps around were bright, 

The prophecy in view ; 
He read it on that niglit, — 

The morrow proved it true. 

Belshazzar's grave is made, 

His kingdom passed away, 
He, in the balance weighed, 

Is light and worthless clay. 
The shroud his robe of state. 

His canopy the stone ; 
The Mede is at his gate ! 

The Persian on his throne ! 

In the fifth chapter of the prophecy of Daniel, the feast 
of Belshazzar, and the end of the Babylonian empire, 
which terminated in him, are recorded ; but there is a 
vividness in Lord Byron's imitation of that passage which 
gives new power to the original. 

BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 

To comprehend the verses which the following facts are 
designed to illustrate, it is necessary they should be known. 
The verses relate especially to the memorable battle of 
Waterloo — a battle which put an end to the military career 
of Napoleon Bonaparte, and gave peace to Europe. Bona- 
parte was a native of the island of Corsica, and, in his 
early life, an officer of engineers in the French service ; 
his military talents at length raised him to the chief com- 
mand of the French armies. 

Bonaparte subjected all the civil affairs of France to 
military power, caused himself to be declared First Consul, 
and afterwards Emperor of France, and King of Italy. He 
did not limit his ambition to the government of France and 



BYRON. 261 

Italy, but actually conquered Switzerland, Holland, and 
the greater part of Germany. He united the Netherlands 
to France, made one of his brothers King of Holland, 
another of Naples, a third of Westphalia, and bestowed 
upon princes of Germany the titles of Kings of Bavaria, 
Saxony and Wirtemburgh. He invited the King of Spain 
to visit him, made him a prisoner, and in 1808 placed his 
brother Joseph on the throne of Spain. 

Bonaparte's insatiable thirst of dominion prompted him 
in 1812 to invade Russia at the head of 500,000 troops; 
but the severity of a Russian winter, and the defensive 
power of the Russians, gave the first check to his conquer- 
ing spiiit. In this campaign, 100,000 men of the French 
army were made prisoners, and 200,000 perished by cold, 
famine, and the sword. 

The different independent governments of Europe took 
advantage of these disasters, to restore independence and 
political liberty to the subjugated countries. The mon- 
archs of Great Britain, Russia, Prussia, Austria, and 
Sweden, formed a confederacy to dethrone Bonaparte, and 
to restore to the several usurped thrones members of fami- 
lies which had formerly held the sovereignty of the diflFer- 
ent states. This alliance is often called the Holy Alli- 
ance — as a compact of defenders of the rights of Kings, 
and, as the allied powers professed, of protectors of re- 
ligion and morals. The armies of these sovereigns, which 
acted under the command of generals from each of the 
aUied states, were called, collectively, " The Allied Army.'* 

The allied army entered Paris, and took possession of it 
on the 18th March, 1814. Bonaparte consequently fled, 
and retired to the island of Elba in the Mediterranean ; but 
he quitted his retreat on the 1st March, 1815, and, at the 
head of the French army which flocked to his standard, he 
re-entered Paris amidst acclamations of Vive V Empereur. 
The allied army was prepared to defend the claims of 
the Bourbons. During the absence of Bonaparte, Louis 
XVIII., brother to Louis XVI., (a king of France beheaded 
in 1793,) was placed on the throne of France. To restore 
him to his late assumed dignity was an immediate purpose 
of the allied powers. 

Bonaparte encountered the allied army near Brussels in 
Belgium. On the 15th of June he defeated the Prussians; 
on the 16th he obtained some advantages over the British; 



562 POETRY POR SCHOOLS. 

but on the 18th his array was completely defeated in the 
BATTLE OF WATERLOO. The FrcDch army under Bona- 
parte consisted of '75,000 Frenchmen. The troops under 
Lord Wellington, of 35,000 English and Scots, and the 
rest, of German contingents, formed, in point of numbei-s, 
a nearly equal force. 

" The loss on the British side during this dreadful 
battle," to borrow the words of Sir Walter Scott, was 
"immense. One hundred officers slain, live hundred 
wounded, many of them to death, fifteen thousand men 
killed and wounded, threw half Britain into mourning." It 
is supposed that about 35,000 French perished at Water- 
loo, — or in consequence of the battle. It was said that the 
English officers, when news came to them of the advance 
of Bonaparte, were at a ball at Brussels. Lord Byron has 
commemorated this circumstance in his poem of " Childe 
Harold." 

THE BALL OF BRUSSELS. 

There was a sound of revelry by night. 

And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright 

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; 

A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; — 
But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes us like a rising knell ! 

Did ye not hear it ? — No 'twas but the wind. 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; — 

On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; 

No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet — 

But hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more, 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; 

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! — 
Arm ! Arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! 

Within a windowed niche of that high hall 
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear 

That sound the first amidst the festival. 

And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; 
And when they smiled because he deemed it near, 



B V R O N . 263 

His heart more truly knew that peal too well 

Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, 
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell : 
He rushed into the field, and, foremosfe fighting, fell. 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 

And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress. 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 

Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; 

And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 

Which ne'er might be repeated ; wlio could guess 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes. 
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise. 

And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed. 

The mustei'ing squadron, and the clattering car 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed. 

And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; 

And the deep thunder peal on peal afar 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 

Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; 
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, 
Or whispering, with white lips — "The foe! they come! 
the}' come !" 

And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering " rose. 
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 

Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes; 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills. 
Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills , 

Their mountain-pipe, so filled the mountaineers 
With the fierce native dating which instils 

The Stirling memory of a thousand years. 
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears. 

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves. 

Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves. 

Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! 

Ere evening to bo trodden like the grass 
Which now beneath them, but abo\e shall grow 

In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valor, rolling on the foe 
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. 



264 POETKY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 

Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, 
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife. 

The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day 

Battle's magnificently stern array ! 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, 

The earth is covered thick with other clay. 
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, 
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent. 

Brunswick^s fated chieftain. — The Duke of Brunswick, a 
German prince, killed in the action. 

The " Cameroiis gathering ^^ rose. — This alludes to the 
music of the Scottish troops. These distinguish themselves 
always as soldiers, for they bring the most noble principles 
of duty and patriotism to the service. 

Evan's and Donald's fame. — Sir Evan Cameron and his 
descendant Donald, chiefs of the Camerons, beloved and 
cherished in the memory of their clansmen. 

Ardennes waves above them her green leaves. 

The wood of Soignies, near the field of Waterloo, is 
supposed to be a remnant of the ' Forest of Ardennes,' 
famous in Boiardo's Orlando, and immortal in Shakspeare's 
* As you like it.' It is also celebrated in Tacitus as being 
the spot of successful defence by the Germans against the 
Roman encroachments. 



WORDSWORTH. 

Of living poets there is not one whose moral feelings, as 
they are exhibited in his verses, more entitle him to the 
respect of mankind than Mr. Wordsworth. This gentleman 
resides in the North of England. He loves the rural life, 
and exiiibits it delightfully in his poetry ! and the benevo- 
lence of his heart is as remarkably connected with his poetic 
talent as the purest 'spirit of devotion, and the finest enjoy- 
ment of extei-nal nature. The Bee, the Solitary Reaper, and 



WORDSWORTH. 265 

the Deserted Indian Woman, are the only extracts from 
Wordsworth's poetry which there is room to insert in this 
volume. 



the soft murmur of the vagrant bee, 



— A slender sound ! yet hoary Time 

Doth to his soul exalt it with the chime 

Of all his years ; — a company 

Of ages coming, ages gone ; 

(Nations from before them sweeping, 

Regions in destruction steeping,) 

But every awful note in unison 

With that faint utterance, which tells 

Of treasure sucked from buds and bells 

For the pure keeping of those waxen cells ; 

Where he, a prudent statist to confer 

Upon the public weal ; a warrior bold — 

Radiant all over with unburnished gold, 

And armed with living spear for mortal fight ; 

A cunning forager 

That spreads no waste ; — a social builder ; one 

In whom all offices unite 

With all fine functions that aff'ord delight. 

Safe through the winter storm in quiet dwells ! 

And is he brought within the power 
Of vision ? — o'er this tempting flower 
Hovering until the petals stay 
His flight, and takes its voice away ! 
Observe each wing — a tiny van ! 
The structure of his laden thigh 
How fragile ! — yet of ancestry 
Mysteriously remote and high — 
High as the imperial front of man. 
The roseate bloom on woman's cheek ; 
The soaring eagle's curved beak ; 
The white plumes of the floating swan ; 
Old as the tiger's paws, the lion's mane, 
Ere shaken by that mood of stern disdain 
At which the desert trembles. 

Humming bee ! 
The sting was needless then, perchance unknown 
23 



266 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

The seeds of malice were not sown ; 

All creatures met in peace from fierceness free, 

And no pride blended with their dignity. 

Tears had not broken from their source ; 
Nor anguish strayed from her Tartarian den, 
The golden years maintained a course 
Not undiversified, though smooth and even ; 
We were not mocked with glimpse and shadow then, 
Bright seraphs mixed familiarly with men ; 
And earth and stars composed a universal heaven. 

In these verses Mr. WordsAvorth suggests a comparison 
between the history of mankind and the lower animals. 
Regarding particular races of men, in respect to the countries 
they once inhabited — nations truly are swept away, and 
regions are steeped in destruction. The glories of ancient 
Greece, and the present condition of that country — the 
military prowess and political power of republican Rome, 
and the feebleness and anarchy of modern Italy, afford 
awful contrasts of former elevation and present degeneracy 
of national character. But animal life exhibits no such 
gloomy views — the same faculties and enjoyments now 
exist in the lower orders of life as " When the eagle from 
the ark " exulted in the reconciled face of Heaven. Ages 
roll away, and neither improvement nor corruption modifies 
the powers and pleasures of those humbler objects of God's 
goodness, which partake with us in all the luxuries of earthly 
elements ; and, if we believe the Scriptures, the date of 
whose existence is coeval with ours — therefore their voices 
speak to us of all antiquity, and the past years of hoary 
Time are commemorated by i\\e faint utterance of an insect's 
hum — for that very sound has been propagated by innu- 
merable multiplications ever since Adam gave names to 
every living creature. 

The beautiful economy of bees has always been a theme 
for admiration to the lovers of nature. The symmetry and 
excellent contrivance of their cells, their order and agree- 
ment in carrying on their work, the presiding function of the 
queen bee, their apparent forecast, and their perseverance 
in accumulating their sweet food, exhibit an image of 
happy human society, and have often been held up as a 
model for the imitation of i-ational beings. 

The suggestion that bees were once stingless is a poetic 



WORDSWORTH. 267 

superstition. According to the Bible, man was happy and 
innocent in the first days of his existence, but when he 
disobeyed God he became subject not only to misery but 
to violent passions. Some poets have represented that 
brute animals exhibited a sort of sympathy with the fate 
of man, and that different tribes began to prey upon others 
when human beings became liable to sin and its punish- 
ment. Of that time, Milton says, 

nature first gave signs, impressed 



On bird, beast, air ; 
The bird of Jove, stooped from his aery tour, 
Two birds of gayest plume before him drove ; 
Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods. 
First hunter then, pursued a gentle brace. 
Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind." 

But before this " all creatures met in peace from fierce- 
ness free," says Mr. Wordsworth — A Golden Age is the 
pretty fiction of poets more ancient than Mr. Wordsworth. — 
It never existed — it supposes vmiversal peace in nature's 
realm ; but in respect to brutes, it could not possibly be, 
because those which subsist on animal food, have organs 
to seize and to destroy other animals, and appetites given 
to them by the Author of nature which demand animal 
food to sustain their life. 

THE FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN. 

It is said by Mr. Hearne, a traveller among the Indian 
tribes who inhabit the northern regions of North America, 
that when the Indians, in considerable companies, under- 
take journeys on foot, if one of their number becomes 
unable through illness or fatigue to proceed with the 
travellers, that individual is left behind with a fire and a 
few articles of sustenance, and in this state languishes and 
dies. Mr. Wordsworth supposes a poor Indian woman to 
have been left thus, and in these pathetic verses has 
expressed what might be her feelings in this situation. 

Before I see another day, 

Oh let my body die away ! 

In sleep I heard the northern gleams ; 

The stars were mingled with my dreams ; 



268 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

In rustling conflict through the skies, 
I heard, and saw the flashes drive ; 
And yet they are upon my eyes. 
And yet I am alive. 
Before I see another day, 
Oh let my body die away ! 

My fire is dead ; it knew no pain ; 

Yet is it dead, and I remain. 

All stifi" with ice the ashes lie ; 

And they are dead, and I will die. 

When I was well, I wished to live. 

For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire ; 

But they to me no joy can give. 

No pleasure now, and no desire. 

Then here contented will I lie ! 

Alone I cannot fear to die. 

Alas ! ye might have dragged me on 

Another day, a single one ! 

Too soon I yielded to despair ; 

Why did ye listen to my prayer ? 

When ye were gone ray limbs were stronger 

And oh, how grievously I rue, 

That afterwards a little longer, 

My friends, I did not follow you I 

For strong and without pain I lay. 

My friends, when ye were gone away. 

My child ! they gave thee to another, 
A woman who was not thy mother. 
When from my arms my babe they took 
On me how strangely did he look ! 
Through his whole body something ran, 
A most strange working did I see ; 
— As if he strove to be a man. 
That he might pull the sledge for me. 
And then he stretched his arms, how wild! 
Oh mercy ! like a helpless child. 

My little- joy I my little pride ! 

In two days more I must have died. 



WORDSWORTH. 269 

Then do not weep and grieve for me ; 
I feel I must have died with thee. 
Oh wind, that o'er my head art flying 
The way ray friends their course did bend, 
I should not feel the pain of dying, 
Could I with thee a message send ! 
Too soon, my friends, ye went away ; 
For I had many things to say. 

I'll follow you across the snow . 

Ye travel heavily and slow ; 

In spite of all my weary pain, 

I'll look upon your tents again. 

— My fire is dead, and snowy white 

The water which beside it stood ; 

The wolf has come to me to-night, 

And he has stolen away my food. 

For ever left alone am I, 

Then wherefore should I fear to die ? 

In sleep I heard the nortJiern gleams. — This alludes to 
the Aurora Borealis — in English, the Morning of the 
North. In countries which he far north, as Lapland, 
Greenland, &c., the heavens on the north side, often ex- 
hibit a brilliant white light, which is sometimes the same in 
lustre for many hours ; and at other times long jets of 
light are thrown up, which vanish and are succeeded by 
others. It is sometimes imagined that these northern 
gleams are accompanied by explosive sounds, — these are 
what the dying Indian woman fancies she heard. 

THE SOLITARY REAPER. 

In the Highlands of Scotland women perform some 
of the lighter labors of the field. They beguile their 
labor by singing in the Gaelic tongue — sometimes, as Mr. 
Wordsworth supposes, of battles long ago, and sometimes 
familiar matter of to-day. 

" Behold her, single in the field, 
Yon solitary Highland lass ! 
Reaping and singing by herself; 
Stop here or gently pass ! 

23* 



270 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 
And sings a melancholy strain ; 
Oh listen ! for the vale profound 
Is overflowing with the sound. 

No nightingale did ever chaunt 

So sweetly to reposing bands 

Of travellers in some shady haunt 

Among Arabian sands : 

No sweeter voice was ever heard 

In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird. 

Breaking the silence of the seas 

Among the farthest Hebrides. 

Will no one tell me what she sings ? 
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
For old, unhappy, far-off" things, 
And battles long ago : 
Or is it some more humble lay, 
Familiar matter of to-day ? 
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain 
That has been, or may be again ? 

Whate'er the theme the maiden sung, 
As if her song could have no ending ; 
I saw her singing at her work 
And o'er her sickle bending ; 
I listened — motionless and still: 
And as I mounted up the hill. 
The music in my heart I bore 
Long after it was heard no more. 



ANDREW MARVELL, 

Born 1620— Died 1618. 

Andrew Marvell is little known as a poet, but the poetry 
which he left, according to Mr. Campbell, is worthy of 
higher consideration than has been bestowed upon it. He 
lived in the time of Oliver Cromwell, and was a sincere 



MARVEL L. 271 

republican, but lie held a seat in the Biitish parliament 
after the restoration of the Stuarts, and is remarkable for 
the independence and honesty with which he avowed his 
sentiments. He had visited foreign countries, had studied 
and meditated much : thus his conversation was adorned 
svith original thought and various knowledge; and as his 
manners were simple but polished, he was in his private 
intercourse singularly agreeable. Charles II. once met 
with this respectable man, and being struck with him, 
thought he would be a valuable acquisition to the royalists. 
— To gain Marvell's favor the King sent him a present of 
money, which was refused, and Mr. Marvell giving a 
rational and dignified exposition of his sentiments, pre- 
ferred his poverty with integrity to the favor of princes. 

This excellent man loved poetry, and vindicated Milton 
when his character was .aspersed. Like Milton he was in 
favor of liberty, and he sympathized with those who were 
compelled to emigrate to foreign lands that they might 
enjoy freedom of conscience. In 1620, the famous emigra- 
tion of New England took place. One year before that 
time a small company of religious persons, who were not 
permitted to worship God in England in the manner which 
seemed to them right, removed to the Bermuda islands. 
These islands are in a healthful and pleasant climate, but 
they have never had many inhabitants — still the first Eng- 
lish who went thither, anticipated much satisfaction in 
their retreat. Mr. Marvell wrote a song wliich may be 
supposed to express the grateful emotions of these voya- 
gers as they entered their desired haven. 

THE EMIGRANTS. 

Where the remote Burmudas ride, 
In ocean's bosom unespied ; 
From a small boat, that rowed along. 
The list'ning winds received this song. 

What should we do but sing his praise, 
That led us through the watery maze, 
Unto an isle so long unknown, 
And yet far kinder than our own ? 

Where he the huge sea-monsters wracks, 
That lift the deep upon their backs. 



272 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

He lands us on a grassy stage, 

Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage. 

He gave us this eternal spring, 
Which here enamels every thing ; 
And sends the fowls to us in care. 
On daily visits through the air. 

He hangs in shades the orange bright, 
Like golden lamps in a green night. 
And does m the pomegranates close 
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows. 

He cast (of which we rather boast) 
The gospel's pearl upon our coast. 
And in these rocks for us did frame 
A temple where to sound his name. 

Oh ! let our voice his praise exalt. 
Till it arrive at heaven's vault : 
Which, thence (perhaps) rebounding, may. 
Echo beyond the Mexique Bay. 

Thus sung they, in the Enghsh boat, 
A ho'v and a cheerful note; 
And all the way, to guide their chime, 
With falling oars they kept the time. 



HENRY VAUGHAN. 

Henry Vaughan was a Welsh gentleman, born on the 
banks of the Uske, in Brecknockshire, who was bred to 
the law, but relinquished it for the profession of physic. 
The extraordinary beauty of Vaughan's poetry makes it 
desirable that the few remains of it which follow should 
become popular. 

EARLY RISING AND PRAYER. 

When first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave 

To do the like ; our bodies but forerun 
The spirit's duty ; true hearts spread and heave 

Unto their God as flowers do to the sun ; 



VAUGHAN. 273 

Give him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou keep 
Him company all day, and in him sleep. 

Yet never sleep the sun up ; prayer should 

Dawn with the day ; there are set, awful hours 
'Twixt heaven and us ; the manna was not good 
After sun rising ; for day sullies flowers : 
Rise to prevent the sun ; sleep doth sins glut, 
And heaven's gate opens when the world's is shut. 

Walk with thy fellow creatures : note the hush 

And whisperings amongst them. Not a spring 
Or leaf but hath his morning hymn ; each bush 
And oak doth know I am. — Canst thou not sing ? 
leave thy cares and follies ! go this way, 
And thou art sure to prosper all the day. 

Serve God before the world ! let him not go 

Until thou hast a blessing ; then resign 
The whole unto him, and remember who 

Prevailed by wrestling ere the sun did shine ; 
Pour oil upon the stones, weep for thy sin. 
Then journey on, and have an eye to heaven. 

Mornings are mysteries : the first world's youth, 

Man's resurrection, and the future's bud, 
Shroud in their births ; the crown of life, light, truth. 
Is styled their star ; the stone and hidden food ; 
Three blessings wait upon them, one of which 
Should move — they make us holy, happy, rich. 

When the world's up, and every swarm abroad, 

Keep well thy temper, mix not with each clay ; 
Dispatch necessities ; life hath a load 

Which must be carried on, and safely may ; 
Yet keep those cares without thee ; let the heart 
Be God's alone, and choose the better part. 

THE TIMBER. 

Sure thou didst flourish once, and many springs. 
Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers, 

Past o'er thy head ; many light hearts and wings. 
Which now are dead, lodged in thy living towers. 



274 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

And still a new succession sings and flies, 
Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot. 
Towards the old and still enduring skies. 

While the low violet thrives at the root. 



THE RAINBOW. 

Still young and fine, but what is still and in view 

We slight as old and soiled, though fresh and new 

How bright wert thou when Shem's admiring eye 

Thy burnished flaming arch did first descry ; 

When Zerah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot, 

The youthful world's gray fathers, in one knot 

Did with intentive looks watch every hour 

For thy new light, and trembled at each shower ! 

When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and fairl 

Forms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air ; 

Rain gently spends to honey-drops, and pours 

Balm on the earth, milk on grass and flowers. 

Bright pledge of peace and sunshine, the sure tie 

Of thy Lord's hand, the object of his eye ! 

When I behold thee, though my light be dim. 

Distant and low, I can in thine see him, 

Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne, 

And minds the covenant 'twixt all and One. 
******* 

THE WREATH (tO THE REDEEMER.) 

Since I in storms most used to be, 

And seldom yielded flowers. 
How shall I get a wreath for thee 

From tiaose rude barren hours ? 
The softer dressings of the spring. 

Or summer's later store, 
I will not for thy temples bring, 

Which thorns, not roses, wore : 
But a twined wreath of grief and praise, 

Praise soiled with tears, and tears again 
Shining with joy, like dewy days, 

This day I bring for all thy pain. 
Thy causeless pain ; and as sad death, 

Which sadness breeds in the most vain, 
not in vain ! now beg thy breath, 



TH M S O X . 2Y5 



Thy quick'ning breath, which gladly bears 
Through saddest clouds to that glad place 

Where cloudless quires sing without tears, 
Sing thy just praise, and see thy face. 



JAMES THOMSON. 

Born in 1700 — Died in 1748. 

This admirable poet was born in Scotland, but he re- 
moved to London while young, and devoted himself to 
poetry. The sweetness of Thomson's disposition, and the 
purity and elegance of his taste procured him patrons, and 
he spent his life surrounded by discerning friends and 
generous benefactors. 

Thomson's principal, and most popular work, is the 
Seasons. A descriptive poem like the Seasons, was un- 
known in ancient literature. It was impossible under the 
system of paganism that the sentiment of piety could have 
the tender and pervading influence which sweetens and 
sanctifies the poetry of Tliomson and Cowper. " Tlie 
religion of the ancients had not taught poetry," says Mr. 
Campbell, " to contemplate nature as one great image of 
the Divine benignity, or all created beings as the objects 
of comprehensive human sympathy. Before popular 
poetry could assume this character, Christianity, Philoso- 
phy, and Freedom, must have civilized the human mind." 

The Castle of Indolence is less read than Thomson's 
Seasons, but to the genuine and cultivated lover of poetry, 
the refinement and beautiful expression of this exquisite 
poem exalt it above all other of Thomson's. The follow- 
ing extract from the Castle of Indolence is especially full 
of instruction. The happiest use that its blameless and 
benevolent author could have desired might be made of it, 
is, that it should awaken in young minds the consciousness 
of their own power, and stimulate them to the natural and 
energetic exertion of faculties designed for all high and 
holy purposes. 



216 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

INTELLECTUAL LABOR. 

"The Knight of Arts and Industry, 
And his achievements fair." 

It was not by vile loitering in ease 

That Greece obtained the brighter palm of art, 

That soft yet ardent Athens learned to please, 
To keen the wit, and to sublime the heart. 
In all supreme ! complete in every part ! 

It was not thence majestic Rome arose, 

And o'er the nations shook her conquering dart; 

For sluggard's brow the laurel never grows ; 
Renown is not the child of indolent repose. 

Had unambitious mortals minded nought, 

But in loose joy their time to wear away; 
Had they alone the lap of dalliance sought, 

Pleased on her pillow their dull heads to lay ; 

Rude nature's state had been our state to-day : 
No cities e'er their towery fronts had raised. 

No arts had made us opulent and gay ; 
With brother-brutes the human race had gazed : 
None e'er bad soared to fame, none honored been, none 
praised. 

Great Homer's song had never fired the breast 

To thirst of glory, and heroic deeds, 
Sweet Maro's Muse, sunk in inglorious rest, 

Had silent slept mid the Mincian reeds : 

The wits of modern times had told their beads, 
And monkish legends been their only strains ; 

Our Milton's Eden had lain wrapt in weeds. 
Our Shakspeare strolled and laughed with Warwick 
swains. 
Nor had my master Spenser charmed his MuUa's plains. 

Dumb too had been the sage historic Muse, 
And perished all the sons of ancient fame ; 

Those starry lights of virtue, that diffuse i 

Through the dark depth of time, their living flame, 
Had all been lost with such as have no name. 

Who then had scorned his ease for other's good ? 
Who then had toiled rapacious men to tame ? 

Who in the public breach devoted stood, 
And for his country's cause been prodigal of blood ? 



THOMSON. 2*l1 

Come, follow me, I will direct you right, 
Where pleasure's roses, void of serpents, grow ; 
Sincere as sweet ; come, follow this good knight. 
And you will bless the day that brought him to your 
sight. 

Some he will lead to courts, and some to camps ; 

To senates some, and public sage debates, 
Where, by the solemn gleam of midnight lamps, 

The world is poised, and managed mighty states ; 

To high disoovery some, that new creates 
The face of earth ; some to the thriving mart ; 

Some to the rural reign, and softer fates ; 
To the sweet Muses some, who raise the heart ; 
All glory shall be yours, all nature, and all art. 

There are, I see, who listen to my lay. 

Who wretched sigh for virtue, but despair. 
All may be done (methinks I hear them say) 

Ev'n death despised by generous actions fair ; 

All, but for those who to these bowers repair, 
Their every power dissolved in luxury, 

To quit of torpid sluggishness the lair, 
And from the powerful arms of sloth get free. 
'T is rising from the dead — Alas ! — It cannot be 1 

Would you then learn to dissipate the band 

Of these huare threatenino- difficulties dire, 
That in the weak man's way like lions stand, 

His soul appal, and damp his rising fire ! 

Resolve, resolve, and to be men aspire. 
Exert that noblest privilege, alone. 

Here to mankind indulged: control desire: 
Let godlike reason, from her sovereign throne. 
Speak the commanding word — / will — and it is done. 



278 POETKY FOR SCHOOLS, 



COLLINS, 



William Collins died at the age of thirty-five, 1*756. 
The latter years of his life were clouded with melancholy. 
In this state Dr. Johnson describes him as having lost all 
relish for books — except one. This was the best of books, 
and it may be presumed that he who had lost all interest 
in temporal things, as his sad eye explored the pages of 
the Gospel, enjoyed a foretaste of heavenly happiness. 
Collins' verses on the death of Thomson are tender 
and pastoral. The poet supposes the author of the 
Seasons to repose on the banks of the Thames, in a 
delightful spot suitable to a lover of nature ; and he fan- 
cies that the living will long connect the memory of his 
gentle spirit with the beauty of that quiet and charming 
scene. 

In yonder grave a Druid lies, 

Where slowly winds the stealing wave ; 

The year's best sweets shall duteous rise. 
To deck their poet's sylvan grave ! 

In yon deep bed of whispering reeds 

His airy harp shall now be laid, 
That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds 

May love through life the soothing shade. 

Then maids and youths shall linger here, 
And, while its sounds at distance swell, 

Shall sadly seem in pity's ear 

To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell. 

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore, 
When Thames in summer wreaths is drest ! 

And oft suspend the dashing oar. 
To bid his gentle spirit rest ! 

And oft as ease and health retire 

To breezy lawn, or forest deep, 
The friend shall view yon whitening spire, 

And mid the varied landscape weep. 



COLLINS. 2l9 

But, thou, who own'st that earth)^ bed. 

Ah ! what will eveiy dirge avail ? 
Or tears, which love and pity shed, 

That mourn beneath the gliding sail ! 

Yet lives there one whose heedless eye 

Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near ? 

With him, sweet bard, may fancy die, 
And joy desert the blooming year. 

But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide 

No sedge-crowned sisters now attend. 
Now waft me from the green hill's side, 

Whose cold turf hides the buried friend I 

And see, the fairy valleys fade. 

Dim night has veiled the solemn view ! 

Yet once again, dear parted shade. 
Meek Nature's child, again adieu ! 

The genial meads, assigned to bless 

Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom ! 
There hinds and shepherd girls shall dress 

With simple hands thy rural tomb. 

Long, long, thy stone, and pointed clay 

Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes. 
! vales and wild woods, shall he say. 

In yonder grave a Druid lies ! 

HASSAN, THE CAMEL-DRIVER. 

In silent horror o'er the boundless waste 

The driver Hassan with his camels passed ; 

One cruise of water on his back he bore. 

And his light scrip contained a scanty store ; 

A fan of painted feathers in his hand, 

To guard his shaded face from scorching sand. 

The sultry sun had gained the middle sky. 

And not a tree and not an herb was nigh ; 

The beasts with pain their dusty way pursue, 

Shrill roared the winds and dreary was the view ; 

With desperate sorrow wild the affrighted man 

Thrice sighed, thrice struck his breast, and thus began : 



280 POETRY F O li SCHOOLS. 

Sad was the hour and luckless was the day. 
When fii'st from Sliiraz walls I bent my way ! 

Ah ! little thought I of the blasting wind, 
The tliirst or pinching hunger that I find ! 
Bethink thee, Hassan, where shall thirst assuage, 
When fails this cruise, his unrelenting rage ? 
Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign, 
Then what but tears and hunger shall be thine ? 
Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear 
In all my griefs a more than equal share ! 
Here, where no springs in murmurs break away, 
Or moss-crrowned fountains mitigate the day, 
In vain ye hope the green delights to know 
Which plains more blest or verdant vales bestow. 
Here rocks alone and tasteless sands are found, 
And faint and sickly winds forever howl around. 

O cease, my fears ! all frantic as I go. 
When thought creates unnumbered scenes of wo, 
What if the lion in his rage I meet ? 
Oft in the dust I view his printed feet : 
And fearful oft when day's declining light 
Yields her pale empire to the mouiner night, 
By hunger roused he scours the groaning plain, 
Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train. 
At that dead hour the silent asp shall creep. 
If aught of rest I find, upon ray sleep ; 
Or some swoln serpent twist his scales around. 
And wake to anguish, with a burninfr wound. 
Thrice happy they, the wise contented poor. 
From lust of wealth and dread of death secure ! 
They tempt no deserts and no griefs they find ; 
Peace rules the day where reason rules the mind. 
Sad was the hour and luckless was the day. 
When first from Shiraz walls I bent ray wa)^ 

It is well known that in the wide region which intervenes 
between the Mediterranean and Persia, there are vast tracts, 
lonely, sandy, and parched by the absence of water and 
shade, which raen, tempted by the love of gain, are induced 
to traverse ; and that some inland commerce is thus carried 
on between the western Asiatics and those of the interior. 
The merchants or tlieir agents usuallj' travel in caravans, 
or large companies, but Mr. Collins supposes his Camel- 



GAY, 281 

Driver to undertake a journey alone, and he describes his 
fears and liis actual sufferings, in a manner which is intelli- 
gible and affecting. 



GAY. 

Born A. D. 168S— Died 1732. 

No great importance is now attached to the name of 
Gay, and he would not probably have been known to 
readers of the present age, had he not been a favorite of 
his contemporaries. Pope was his friend ; he survived 
him, and wrote an Epitaph in honor of his memory. In 
the Epitaph he is described as " a safe companion, and an 
easy friend." This faint and common-place praise seemed 
to Dr. Johnson, the biographer and critic of English poets, 
to be very insignificant, but it records the amiableness of 
Mr. Gay's disposition and manners. He wrote a dramatic 
piece called the Beggar's Opera, which was often exhibited, 
and extremely admired during the author's life, but it has 
now fallen into oblivion. Gay's Fables have been very 
popular. Two only are selected for this volume. 

THE BUTTERFLY AND SNAIL. 

All upstarts, insolent in place, 
Remind us of their vulgar race. 

As in the sunshine of the mora 
A butterfly (but newly born) 
Sat proudly perking on a rose. 
With pert conceit his bosom glows ; 
His wings (all glorious to behold) 
Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold. 
Wide he displays ; the spangled dew 
Reflects his eyes and various hue. 

His now-forgotten friend, a snail, 
Beneath his house, with slimy trail, 
Crawls o'er the grass ; whom when he spies 
In wrath he to the gardener cries : 
24* 



282 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

" What means yon peasant's daily toil 
From choliing weeds to rid the soil ? 
Why wake you to the morning's care? 
Why with new arts correct the year? 
Why glows the peach with crimson hue? 
And why the plum's inviting blue ? 
Were they to feast his taste designed, 
That vermin of voracious kind. 
Crushed then the slow, the pilfering race, 
So purge thy garden from disgrace." 
" What arrogance !" the snail replied, 
" How insolent is upstart pride ! 
Hadst thou not thus, with insult vain, 
Provoked my patience to complain, 
I had concealed thy meaner birth, 
Nor traced thee to the scum of earth ; 
For scarce nine suns had waked the hours, 
To swell the fruit, and paint the flowers. 
Since I thy humbler life surveyed, 
In base, in sordid guise arrayed ; 
A hideous insect, vile, unclean, 
You dragged a slow and noisome train ; 
And from your spider bowels drew 
Foul film, and spun the dirty clue. 
I own my humble life, good friend ; 
Snail was I born, and snail shall end. 
And what's a butterfly at best ? 
He's but a caterpillar drest ; 
And all thy race (a numerous seed) 
Shall prove of caterpillar breed." 

This fable is intended for a satire upon such persons as 
being born in humble circumstances, and forming friend- 
ships suitable to their station, are afterwards in their own 
estimation exalted by wealth, and disdain their early and 
poorer friends. 

The butterfly state, is the last stage of that insect's life. 
She is hatched from an egg, and is at first an unsightly 
caterpillar ; after a certain time she weaves herself a little 
envelope, in which she appears to sleep ; in this state the 
insect is a chrysalis, but at length, in her last formation, 
she forces her way out of this case — she is then a butterfly. 
She " sports and flutters in the fields of air " for a few 



tJAY. 283 

tdays, lays her eggs, and dies. Gay's butterfly is supposed 
in the caterpillar shape, to have been the friend and com- 
panion of the snail which he afterwards despises. 



THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. 

A hare who, in a civil way, 
Complied with every thing, like Gay, 
Was known by all the bestial train 
Who haunt the wood or graze the plain. 
Her care was never to offend ; 
And every creature was her friend. 
As forth she went at early dawn, 
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn. 
Behind she hears the hunter's cries. 
And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies, 
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath ; 
She hears the near advance of death; 
She doubles to mislead the hound. 
And measures back her mazy round,* 
Till, fainting in the public way, 
Half dead with fear she gasping lay.. 

What transport in her bosom grew. 
When first the horse appeared in view! 

" Let me,'' says she, " your back ascend, 
And owe my safety to a friend. 
You know my feet betray my flight ; 
To friendship every burden's light." 

The horse replied, " Poor honest puss, 
It grieves my heart to see you thus : 
Be comforted, relief is near ; 
For all your friends are in the rear." 

She next the stately bull implored, 
And thus replied the mighty lord: 

" Since every beast alive can tell 
That I sincerely wish you well, 
I may, without offence, pretend 
To take the freedom of a friend. 
Love calls me hence ; a favorite cow 
Expects me near yon barley-mow ; 
And when a lady's in the case. 
You know, all other things give place. 



284 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

To leave you thus might seem unkind ,' 

But see the goat is just behind.'' 

The goat remarked " her pulse was high. 

Her languid head, her heavy eye : 

My back, says he, may do you harm : 

The sheep's at hand, and wool is warm." 
The sheep was feeble, and complained 
" His sides a load of wool sustained ;" 

Said he was slow, confessed his fears ; 
"For hounds eat sheep as well as hares." 
She now the trotting calf addressed. 

To save from death a friend distressed. 
" Shall I," says he, " of tender age, 

In this important care engage ? 

Older and abler passed you by ; 

How strong are those ! how weak am 1 1 

Should I presume to bear you hence. 

Those friends of mine may take offence. 

Excuse me, then ; you know my heart ; 

But dearest friends, alas must part. 

How shall we all lament ! Adieu ; 

For see the hounds are just in view." 

This fable is meant to afford a lesson in what is called 
a knowledge of the world. To show that the feeble and 
dependent are too often deserted at their utmost need. To 
be feeble, and to need protection is an unhappy state ; but 
it is necessary that some men should exist in it, that the 
benevolence of others may have objects to employ itself 
upon. We should avoid the state of dependence by all 
the means in our power, but we should never forsake 
others when we can afford them protection and favor. 



ROGERS, 285 



SAMUEL ROGERS. 

EXTRACT FROM THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 

Oft may the spirits of the dead descend. 
To watch the silent slumbers of a friend : 
To hover round his evening walk unseen, 
And hold sweet converse on the dusky green; 
To hail the spot where once their friendship grew. 
And heaven and nature opened to their view ! 
Oft when he trims his cheerful hearth and sees 
A social circle emulous to please ; 
There may these gentle guests delight to dwell. 
And bless the scene they loved in life so well ! 

Oh thou, with whom my heart was wont to share 
From reason's dawn each pleasure and each carei 
With whom, alas! I fondly hope to know 
The humble walks of happiness below ; 
If thy blest nature now unites above 
An angel's pity with a brother's love ; 
Still o'er my life preserve thy mild control, 
Correct my views, and elevate my soul : 
Grant me thy peace and purity of mind. 
Devout yet cheerful, active yet resigned ; 
Grant me like thee whose heart knew no disguise. 
Whose blameless wishes never aimed to rise. 
To meet the changes time and chance present. 
With modest dignity and calm content. 
When thy last breath, e'er nature sunk to rest. 
Thy meek submission to thy God expressed. 
When thy last look, ere thought and feeling fled, 
A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed ; 
What to thy soul its glad assurance gave, 
Its hope in death, its triumph o'er the grave ? 
The sweet remembrance of unblemished youth, 
The inspiring voice of innocence and truth. 

Hail memory, hail ! in thy exhaustless mine 
From age to age, unnumbered treasures shine ! 
Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey, 
And place and time are subject to thy sway ! 



2&6 POETRT FOR SCHOOLS, 

Thy pleasures most we feel when most alone. 
The only pleasures we can call our own. 
Lighter than air, Hope's summer visions fly. 
If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky ; 
If but a beam of sober reason play, 
Lo ! Fancy's fairy frostwork melts away ! 
But can the wiles of art, the grasp of Power, 
Snatch the rich relics of a well spent hour ? 
These when the trembling spirit takes her flight. 
Pour round her path a stream of living light. 
And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest. 
Where virtue triumphs, and her sons are blest. 

The Pleasures of Memory, a very agreeable poem, was 
written by Samuel Rogers, Esq. Mr. Rogers still lives 
(1849) in England, at a very advanced age ; he is a banker, 
and a man of fortune, and is now considered as a father of 
living English poets. Lord Byron, Mr. Fox, Thomas Moore, 
and many other eminent men, have regarded his friendship 
as a high privilege. The tenderness of Mr. Rogers' heart is 
manifest throughout the preceding lines from the Pleasures 
of Memory. They are principally addressed to a deceased 
brother — by the sentiments they express the heart is made 
better. 

The reader well knows that memory is that faculty by 
which knowledge acquired at one time is preserved, and 
may be brought up in the mind at all times future to that in 
which it was first acquired. Without memory man would 
be like an infant all his days. Memory is not only of in- 
finite use, but is a source of infinite pleasure. The memory 
of good actions, may be called the '• testimony of a good 
conscience." The memory of good friends is sometimes a 
consolation for the loss of them. The memory, or " the 
remembrance of the just," who are no more, is blest by 
those who survive them. Many have believed that the 
good, when they are removed to another life, stfll remember 
those they loved in this, and that they are permitted to 
exert a watchful care over the friends they knew in this 
world. The author of the Pleasures of Memory expresses, 
such a belief. 

THE ALPS AT DAY-BREAK. 

The sun-beams strike the azure skies, 
And line with light the mountain's brow : 



WOLFE. 287 

With hounds and horns the hunters rise, 
And chase the roe-buck through the snow. 

From rock to rock with giant bound. 
High on their iron poles they pass ; 
Mute, lest the air, convulsed by sound, 
Rend from above, a frozen mass. 

The goats wind slow their wonted way, 
Up craggy steeps and ridges rude ; 
Marked by the wild wolf for his prey. 
From desert cave or hanging wood. 

And while the torrent thunders loud. 
And as the echoing cliffs reply, 
The hut peeps o'er the morning cloud, 
Perched like an eagle's nest on high. 

The region of the Alps is the abode of a secluded but 
vigorous and adventurous race of men, whose favorite occu- 
pations are hunting, and sealing their snow covered moun- 
tains. In the ascent of these they use long poles pointed 
with iron, which aid them in their dangerous passages. 
Mr. Gray says " there are passes in the Alps, where the 
guides tell you to move on with speed, and say nothing, 
lest the air, agitated by the voice, should loosen the snows 
above," and the detached masses should instantly destroy 
the travellers. 



CHARLES WOLFE. 

Charles Wolfe, the author of the verses on the interment 
of Sir John Moore, was born in Dublin in 1791. His 
family was highly respectable, and numbers among its 
names that of the conqueror of Quebec. His classical 
education was received in the University of Dublin. In 
1817, Mr. Wolfe was ordained to the Protestant Episcopal 
ministry, and appointed to a remote country curacy in the 
north of Ireland. His last place of residence was the Cove 



288 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

of Cork, where he died of consumption on the 2l3t of 
February, 1823, in the thirty-second year of his age. 

Mr. Wolfe took the subject of his ode from the following 
passage in the Edinburgh Annual Register. 

"Sir John Moore had often said, that if he was killed in 
battle, he wished to be buried where he fell. The body 
was removed at midnight to the citadel of Corunna. A 
grave Avas dug for him on the rampart there, by a party 
of the &th regiment, the aids-du-camp attending by turns. 
No coffin could be procured, and the officers of his staff 
wrapped the body, dressed as it was, in a military cloak 
and blankets. Tlie interment was hastened ; for about 
eight in the morning, some firing was he-ard, and the officers 
feared that if a serious attack were made, they should be 
ordered away, and not suffered to pay him their last duty. 
The officers of his family bore him to the grave ; the funeral 
service was read by the chaplain ; and the corpse was 
covered with earth." — Edinburgh Annual Register, 1808. 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; 
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the gi-ave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly at dead of night. 
The sods with our bayonets turning, — 
By the struggling moon-beam's misty light. 
And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast. 
Nor in sheet nor in shroud we bound him, 
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest. 
With his martial cloak around him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 
And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead. 
And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, 

And smoothed down his lonely pillow, 

That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head. 

And we far away on the billow. 



WOLFE. 289 

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, 
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; 
But little he'll reck if they let him sleep on 
In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half our heavy task was done. 
When the clock told the hour for retiring ; 
And we heard by the distant and random gun, 
That the foe was suddenly firing. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 
From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone. 
But we left him alone with his glory. 

General Sir John Moore was the son of Dr. John Moore, 
the author of Zeluco, and of several other excellent novels. 
General Moore was killed at Corunna, in Spain, January, 
1808. He was sent into Spain by the British government, 
at the head of a large military force, in order to assist the 
Spaniards against the French. At that period, Ferdinand 
VII., king of Spain, was a prisoner in France, and Joseph 
Bonaparte, a brother of the Emperor Napoleon, was the 
" intrusive king " of the countr3^ Bonaparte had resolved 
to establish his family in Spain, and the English govern- 
ment intended to defend what they call legitimate power — 
meaning by this, the continued authority of European 
sovereigns, whose ancestors have governed before them. 

The English, upon this principle, sent an army to expel 
the French from Spain ; but that army was forced to leave 
Spain without accomplishing their purpose. General Moore 
was a man of great courage and military skill, and his want 
of success in this enterprise was owing to circumstances 
which he could not control. When he was about to 
embark his troops, in order to return to England, he was 
overtaken by the French general. Marshal Soult, and a 
battle took place between them. 

"The attack was made by the French on the 16th Jan- 
uary, in heavy columns, and with their usual vivacity ; but 
it was sustained and repelled on all hands. The gallant 
general was mortally wounded in the action, just as he 
called on the 42d Highland regiment to ' remember Egypt,' 
■where they had exhibited great bravery." 
25 



290 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Thus died one of the best and bravest officers of the 
British army. His body Avas wrapped in his military cloak, 
instead of the usual vestments of tlie tomb : it vs^as de- 
posited in a gi'ave hastily dug on the ramparts of Corunna ; 
and the army completing its embarkation on the subsequent 
day, their late general was left ' alone with his glory.' 



COWPER. 

Born Il31—I>ied 1800. 

The biographers of Cowper are fond of tracing his origin 
to nobles and even to Kings. " His mother was descended," 
says the poet's relative, the Rev. Mr. Johnson, "by four 
different lines, from Henry the Third, King of England." — 
Cowper says of himself, 

" My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth, 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise." 

T\\B proud pretensions ihu?, ii's.sexteA by this truly hum- 
ble man, were the merits of his excellent parents, but we 
shall exalt these pretensions above every other considera- 
tion should we refer them to himself alone. — To him 

" Whose virtues formed the magic of his song," 

whose genius was so informed by piety and goodness, so 
devoted to the contemplation of God and his works, that he 
has left one of the most lovely examples upon record of 
what a high and holy gift the talent of a true poet is. The 
first extract from his works which shall be inserted here, is his 
own sketch of the poetical character, which, however, is 
limited to the peculiar moral character of the poet, without 
touching upon the excursive and inventive powers of his im- 
agination, of which Shakspeare says ; 

" The poet's eye in a fine phrenzy rolUng 
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven. 



cow PER. . -291 

And as imagination bodies forth, 
The forms of things unseen, the poet's pen 
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
A. local habitation and a name." 



THE POET. 



The mind that feels indeed the fire 



The muse imparts, and can command the lyre. 

Acts with a force, and kindles with a zeal, 

Whate'er the theme, what others never feel. 

If human woes her soft attention claim, 

A tender sympathy pen'ades the frame; 

She pours a sensibility divine 

Along the nerve of every feeling line. 

But if a deed not tamely to be borne 

Fire indignation and a sense of scorn. 

The strings are swept with such a power, so Ioud9 

The storm of music shakes the astonished crowd. 

So when remote futurity is brought 

Before the keen inquiry of her thought, 

A terrible sagacity informs 

The poet's heart, he looks to distant storms. 

He hears the thunder, ere the tempest lowers. 

And armed with sti-ength surpassing human powers. 

Seizes events as yet unknown to man. 

And starts his soul into the dawning plan. 

Hence, in a Roman mouth the graceful name 

Of poet and of prophet was the same ; 

Hence British poets in the priesthood shared 

And every hallowed poet was a bard. 

CRAZY KATE. 

There often wanders one whom better days 
Saw better clad in cloak of satin trimmed 
With lace, and hat with splendid ribbon bound. 
A serving maid was she, and fell in love 
With one who left her, went to sea, and died. 
Her fancy followed him, through foaming waves 
To distant shores ; and she would sit and weep 
At what a sailor suffers ; fancy too, 
Delusive most where warmest wishes are. 



292 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

Would oft anticipate his glad return, 

And dream of transports she was not to know. 

She heard the doleful tidings of his death — 

And never smiled again ! and now she roams 

The dreary waste ; there spends the livelong day. 

And there,, unless when charity forbids, 

The livelong night. A tattered apron hides. 

Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown 

More tattered still ; and both but ill conceal 

A bosom heaved with never ceasing sighs. 

She begs an idle pin of all she meets. 

And hoards them in her sleeve ; but needful food. 

Though pressed with hunger oft, or comelier clothes 

Though pinched with cold, asks never, — Kate is crazed. 



ON A SPANIEL CALLED BEAU, KILLING A YOUNG BIRD. 

A spaniel. Beau, that fares like you, 

Well fed, and at his ease, 
Should wiser be than to pursue 

Each trifle that he sees. 

But you have killed a tiny bird. 

Which flew not till to day. 
Against my orders, whom you heard 

Forbidding you the prey. 

Nor did you kill that you might eat. 

And ease a doggish pain. 
For him, though chased with furious heat 

You left where he was slain. 

Nor was he of the thievish sort. 

Or one whom blood allures. 
But innocent was all his sport. 

Whom you have torn for yours. 

My dog ! what remedy remains. 

Since, teach you all I can, 
I see j'ou, after all my pains. 

So much resemble Man ? 



o w PER. 293 



BEAU S REPLr. 



fSir, when I flew to seize the bh'd 

In spite of your command, 
A louder voice than yours I heard, 

And harder to withstand. 

You cried — forbear — but in my breast 

A mightier cried — proceed — 
*T was Nature, Sir, whose strong behest 

Impelled me to the deed. 

Yet much as Nature I respect, 

I ventured once to break, 
(As you, perhaps, may recollect) 

Her precept for your sake ; 

And when your linnet on a day. 

Passing his prison door, 
Had fluttered all his strength away 

And panting pressed the floor. 

Well knowing him a sacred thing, 

Not destined to my tooth, 
I only kissed his ruffled wing. 

And licked the feathers smooth. 

Let ray obedience then excuse 

My disobedience now, 
Nor some reproof yourself refuse 

From your aggrieved Bow-wow ; 

If killing birds be such a crime, 

(Which I can hardly see,) 
What think you, sir, of killing Time 

With verse addressed to me ? 

Beau was Mr. Cowper's favorite Dog, and often accom- 
panied him in his walks. Those who possess Cowper's 
entire works, will find Beau celebrated in the verses, The 
Dog and the Water Lily. 
25* 



294 POETRY FOR SCHOOIS, 

The verses to Mrs. Anne Bodham, on receiving from her 
a net-work purse made by herself, are lively and epigram- 
matic, expressive of the cordiality and sportiveness with 
which Cowper treated the friends whom he loved. 

My gentle Anne, whom heretofore, 
When I was young, and thou no more 

Than plaything for a nurse, 
I danced and fondled on my knee 
A kitten both in size and glee, 

I thank thee for my purse. 
Gold pays the worth of all things here j 
But not of love ; — That gem's too dear 

For richest rogues to win it ; 
I, therefore, as a proof of love. 
Esteem thy present far above 

The best things kept within it. 



THE CASTAWAY. 

The date of this piece is March 20, 1799. It is the last 
original effort of Cowper, and as such, a melancholy 
interest is attached to it. The Castaway is founded upon 
an incident recorded in Lord Anson's voyage. A sailor 
fell overboard, but the force of the wind and the roughness 
of the sea frustrated every effort which could be made to 
save his life, and he was drowned. 

Obscurest night involved the sky, 

The Atlantic billows roared. 
When such a destined wretch as I, 

Washed headlong from on boards 
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft. 
His floating home for ever left. 

No braver chief could Albion boast, 

Than he, with whom he went, 
Nor ever ship left Albion's coast, 

With warmer wishes sent. 
He loved them both, but both in vain, 
Nor him behold, nor her again. 



c o w p E R. 295 



Not long beneath the whelming brine. 

Expert to swim, he lay ; 
Nor soon he felt his strength decline, 

Or courage die awa}' ; 
But waged with death a lasting strife> 
Supported by despair of life. 

He shouted ; nor his friends had failed 
To check the vessel's course, 

But so the furious blast prevailed, 
That, pitiless, perforce, 

They left their outcast mate behind, 

And scudded still before the wind. 

Some succor yet they could afford ; 

And such as storms allow, 
The cask, the coop, the floating cord. 

Delayed not to bestow, 
But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, 
Whate'er they gave, should visit more. 

Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he 
Their haste himself condemn. 

Aware that flight, in such a sea. 
Alone could rescue them ; 

Yet bitter felt it still to die 

Deserted, and his friends so nigh. 

He long survives, who lives an hour 

In ocean, self-upheld : 
And so long he, with unspent power 

His destiny repelled : 
And ever as the minutes flew. 
Entreated help, or cried — " Adieu !" 

At length his transient respite past, 

His comrades, who before 
Had heard his voice in every blast. 

Could catch the sound no more. 
For then, by toil subdued, he drank 
The stifling wave, and then he sank. 



296 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

No poet wept him : but the page 

Of narrative sincere, 
That tells his name, his worth, his age, 

Is wet with Anson's tear. 
And tears by bards or heroes shed, 
Ahke immortalize the dead. 

I therefore purpose not, nor dream, 

Descanting on his fate, 
To give the melancholy theme 

A more enduring date. 
But misery still delights to trace 
Its semblance in another's case. 



ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. 

The Royal George was a British vessel belonging to the 
navy. While she was in harbor, and undergoing some 
repair, with Admiral Kempenfelt and eight hundred per- 
sons, officers and men, on board, the vessel and all in it 
suddenly sunk, and every individual perished, September, 
1Y82. 

Toll for the brave ! 

The brave that are no more ! 
All sunk beneath the wave, 

Fast by their native shore. 

Eight hundred of the brave. 

Whose courage well was tried, 
Had made the vessel heel. 

And laid her on her side. 

A land breeze shook the shrouds, 

And she was overset ; 
Down went the Royal George, 

With all her crew complete. 



Toll for the brave ! 

Brave Kempenfelt is gone, 
His last sea-fight is fought ; 

His work of glory done. 



JOHNSON. 297 

It was not ill the battle ; 

No tempest gave the shock; 
She sprang no fatal leak ; 

She ran upon no rock. 

His sword was in his sheath ; 

His fingers held the pen, 
When Kempenfelt went down, 

With twice four hundred men. 

Weigh the vessel up, 

Once dreaded by our foes 
And mingle with' our cup. 

The tear that England owes. 

Her timbers yet are sound. 

And she may float again, 
Full charged with England's thunder. 

And plough the distant main. 

But Kempenfelt is gone, 

His victories are o'er; 
And he and his eight hundred, 

Shall plough the wave no more. 



SAMUEL JOHNSON. 

This distinguished person is sometimes ranked among 
poets, though Mr. Wordsworth denies his claim to that 
character. Dr. Johnson was however, without question 
one of the most exalted moralists, and best writers of his 
time, and his writings are still read with admiration. 

Samuel Johnson was born at Litchfield, England, Sep- 
tember Yth, 1*709. — He was the son of a respectable 
bookseller. Johnson's early years were passed almost in 
poverty, but not in ignorance. From his infancy his mind 
was cultivated, and his scholastic education was completed 
at the university of Oxford. 



298 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Johnson attempted the instruction of boys for a livelihood, 
but he was unsuccessful, and his occupation through life 
was that of a professional author. In his youth he was 
fortunate in gaining the friendship of some excellent men, 
and among them numbered his townsman, David Garrick — 
afterwards one of the most celebrated actors of any country. 

In company with Garrick, Johnson arrived in London in 
March, 1737. — " Two such candidates for fame perhaps 
never, before that day, entered the metropolis together," 
and both in their subsequent lives attained such success and 
reputation in their separate vocations as rarely falls to the 
lot of man. 

It belongs to a larger work than this to detail the cir- 
cumstances by which Johnson passed from poverty to 
competency, and from obscurity to eminence. He lived to 
know that his works were read, and his influence felt, 
wherever the English language is spoken, and even that 
some of his writings were translated into the other lan- 
guages of Europe. Dr. Johnson died in London, December, 
1784, at the age of seventy-five. 

The English Dictionary, the Rambler, the Lives of the 
Poets, and many articles of criticism, and some poetry, 
compose Dr. Johnson's works. From the exceeding beauty 
and gracefulness of his style, and the elegance of its images, 
the story of Anningait and Ajut, is well suited to a collec- 
tion of poetry, and therefore it has been extracted from the 
Rambler. 

ANNINGAIT AND AJUT. 

In one of the large caves to which the families of Green- 
land retire together, to pass the cold months, and which 
may be termed their villages or cities, a youth and maid, 
who came from different parts of the country, were so much 
distinguished for their beauty, that they were called by 
the rest of the inhabitants Anningait and Ajut, from a 
supposed resemblance to their ancestors of the same names, 
who had been transformed of old into the sun and moon. 

Anningait for some time heard tlie praises of Ajut with 
little emotion, but at last, by frequent interviews he became 
sensible of her charms, and first made a discovery of his 
affection, by inviting her with her parents to a feast, where 
be phutd before Ajut the tail of a whale. Ajut seemed 



JOHNSON. 299 

not much delighted by this gallantry ; yet, however, from 
that time, was observed rarely to appear but in a vest made 
of the skin of a white deer ; she used frequently to renew 
the black dye upon her hands and forehead, to adorn her 
sleeves with coral and shells, and to braid her hair with 
great exactness. 

The elegance of her dress, and the judicious disposition 
of her ornaments, had such an effect upon Anningait, that 
he could no longer be restrained from a declaration of his 
love. He therefore composed a poem in her praise, in 
which, among other heroic and tender sentiments, he pro- 
tested, that " she was beautiful as the vernal willow, and 
fragrant as thyme upon the mountains ; that her finfrecs 
were white as the teeth of the morse, and her smile grateful 
as the dissolution of the ice ; that he would pursue her, 
though she should pass the snows of the midland cliffs, or 
seek shelter in the caves of the eastern cannibals ; that he 
would tear her from the embraces of the genius of the 
rocks, snatch her from the paws of Amarok, and rescue 
her from the ravine of Hafjufa." He concluded with a 
wish, that " whoever shall attempt to hinder his union with 
Ajut might be buried without his bow, and that, in the 
land of souls, his skull might serve for no other use than to 
catch the droppings of the starry lamps." 

This ode being universally applauded, it was expected 
that Ajut would soon yield to such fervor and accom- 
plishments; but Ajut, with the natural haughtiness of 
beauty, expected all the forms of courtsliip ; and before 
she would confess herself conquered tlie sun returned, the 
ice broke, and the season of labor called all to their em- 
ployments. 

Anningait and Ajut for a time always went out in the 
same boat and divided whatever was caught. Annincrait, 
in the sight of his mistress, lost no opportunity of signali- 
zing his courage ; he attacked the sea-horses' on the ice, 
pursued the seals into the water, and leaped upon the back 
of the whale while he was yet struggling with the remains 
of life. Nor was his diligence less to accumulate all that 
could be necessary to make winter comfortable ; he dried 
the roe of fishes and the flesh of seals ; he entrapped deer 
and foxes, and dressed their skins to adorn his bride ; he 
feasted her with eggs from the rocks, and strewed her tent 
with flowers. 



300 roETKV roR schools. 

It happened that a tempest drove the fish to a distant 
part of the coast before Anningait had completed his store ; 
he therefore entreated Ajut, that she would at last grant 
him her hand, and accompany him to that part of the coun- 
try whither he was now summoned by necessity. Ajut 
thought him not yet entitled to such condescension, but 
proposed, as a trial of his constancy, that he should return 
at the end of the summer to the cavern where their ac- 
quaintance commenced, and there expect the reward of 
his assiduities. " Oh virgin, beautiful as the sun shining 
on the water, consider," said Anningait, " what thou hast 
required. How easily may my return be precluded by a 
sudden frost or unexpected fogs ! Then must the night be 
passed without my Ajut. We live not, my fair, in those 
fabled countries which lying strangers so wantonly describe ; 
where the whole year is divided into sliort days and nights, 
where the same habitation serves for summer and winter, 
where they raise houses in rows above the ground, dwell 
toget'.ier from year to year, with flocks of tame animals 
grazing in the fields about them ; can travel at any time 
from one place to another, through ways enclosed with 
trees, or over walls raised upon the inland waters ; and 
direct their course through wide countries by the sight of 
green hills or scattered buildings. Even in summer, we 
have no means of crossing the mountains whose snows are 
never dissolved ; nor can remove to any distant residence, 
but in our boats coasting the bays. Consider, Ajut ; a few 
summer-days, and a few winter-nights, and the life of man. 
is at an end. Night is the time of ease and festivity, of 
revels and gaiety ; but what will be the flaming lamp, the 
delicious seal, or the soft oil, without the smile of Ajut?" 

The eloquence of Anningait was vain ; the maid continued 
inexorable, and they parted with ardent promises to meet 
again before the night of winter. 

Anningait, however discomposed by the dilatory coyness 
of Ajut, was yet resolved to omit no tokens of amorous 
respect; and therefore presented her at his departure with 
the skins of seven white fawns, of five swans, and eleven 
seals, with three marble lamps, ten vessels of seal oil, and 
a large kettle of brass, which he had purchased from a 
ship, at the price of half a whale and two horns of sea 
unii'orns. ♦ ^ 

Ajut was so much affected by the fondness of Anningait, 



JOHNSON. 301 

or so much overpowered by his magnificence, that she 
followed him to the sea-side ; and, when she saw him enter 
the boat, wished aloud that he might return with plenty 
of skins and oil ; that neither the mermaids might snatch 
him into the deeps, nor the spirits of tlie rocks confine him 
in their caverns. 

She stood awhile to gaze upon the departing vessel, and 
then returning to her hut, silent and dejected, laid aside, 
from that hour, her white deer skin, suffered her hair to 
spread unbraided on her shoulders, and forbore to mix in 
the dances of the maidens. She endeavored to divert her 
thoughts by continual application to feminine employments, 
gathered moss for the winter lamps, and dried grass to 
line the boots of Anningait. Of the skins which he had 
bestowed upon her, she made a fishing coat, a small boat, 
and tent, all of exquisite manufacture ; and, while she was 
thus busied, solaced her labors with a song, in which she 
prayed, " that her lover might have hands stronger than the 
paws of the bear, and feet swifter than the feet of the rein- 
deer ; that his dart might never err, and that his boat might 
never leak ; that he might never stumble on the ice, nor faint 
in the water ; that the seal might rush on his harpoon, and 
the wounded whale might dash the waves in vain." 

The large boats in which the Greenlanders transport 
their families, are always rowed by women; for a man will 
not debase himself by work which requires neither skill nor 
courage. Anningait was therefore exposed by idleness to 
the ravages of passion. He went thrice to the stern of the 
boat, with an intent to leap into the water, and swim back 
to his mistress ; but, recollecting the misery which they 
must endure in the winter, without oil for the lamp, or 
skins for the bed, he resolved to employ the weeks of 
absence in provision for a night of plenty and felicity. He 
then composed his emotions as he could, and expressed in 
wild numbers and uncouth images his hopes, his sorrows 
and fears. 

" life !" says he, "frail and uncertain! where shall 
man fiad thy resemblance but in ice floating on the ocean? 
It towers on high, it sparkles from afar, while the storms 
drive and the waters beat it, the sun melts it above, and 
the rocks shatter it below. What art thou, deceitful plea- 
sure ! but a sudden blaze streaming from the north, which 
26 



302 POETRY F.OR SCHOOLS. 

plays a moment on the eye, mocks the traveller with the 
hopes of light, and then vanishes forever? What, love, 
art thou, but a whirlpool, which we approach without 
knowledge of our danger, drawn on by imperceptible 
degrees, till we have lost all power of resistance and 
escape ? Till I fixed my eyes on the graces of Ajut, while 
I had not yet called her to the banquet, I was careless as 
the sleeping morse, I was merry as the singers in the stars. 
Why, Ajut, did I gaze upon thy graces? why, my fair, did 
I call thee to the banquet ? Yet, be faithful, my love, 
remember Anningait, and meet my return with the smile 
of virginity. I will chase the deer, I will subdue the 
whale, resistless as the frost of darkness, and unwearied as 
the summer sun. In a few weeks I shall return prosperous 
and wealthy ; then shall the roefish and and the porpoise 
feed thy kindred ; the fox and hare shall cover thy couch ; 
the tough hide of the seal shall shelter thee from the cold ; 
and the fat of the whale illuminate thy dwelling." 

Anningait having with these sentiments consoled his 
grief, and animated his industry, found that they had now 
coasted the headland, and saw the whales spouting at a 
distance. He therefore placed himself in his fishing- boat, 
called his associates to their several employments, plied his 
oar and harpoon, with incredible courage and dexterity ; 
and, by dividing his time between the chase and fishery 
suspended the miseries of absence and suspicion. 

Ajut, in the mean time, notwithstanding her neglected 
dress, happened, as she was drying some skins in the sun, 
to catch the eye of Norngsuk, on his return from hunting. 
Norngsuk was of birth truly illustrious. His dignity was 
equalled by his riches; he was master of four men's and 
two women's boats, had ninety tubs of oil in his winter 
habitation, and five-and-twenty seals buried in the snow 
against the season of darkness. When he saw the beauty 
of Ajut, he immediately threw over her the skin of a deer 
that he had taken, and soon after presented her with a branch 
of coral. Ajut refused his gifts, and determined to admit 
no lover in the place of Anningait. 

Norngsuk, thus rejected, had recourse to stratagem. 
He knew that Ajut would consult an angekok, or diviner, 
concerning the fate of her lover and the felicity of her 
future life. He therefore applied himself to the most 
celebrated angekok of that part of the country, and, by 



J O H N S K . 303 

a present of two seals and a marble kettle, obtained a 
promise that, when Ajut should consult him he would 
declare that her lover was in the land of souls. Ajut, in 
a short time brought him a coat made by herself, and 
inquired what events were to befall her ; with assurance 
of a much larger reward at the return of Anningait, if the 
prediction should flatter her desires. The angekok knew 
the way to riches, and foretold that Anningait, having 
already caught two whales, would soon return home with 
a large boat laden with provisions. 

This prognostication she was ordered to keep secret ; 
and Norngsuk, depending upon his artifice, renewed his 
addresses with greater confidence ; but, finding his suit still 
unsuccessful, applied himself to her parents with gifts and 
promises. The wealth of Greenland is too powerful for 
the virtues of a Greenlander ; they forgot the merit and 
the presents of Anningait, and decreed Ajut to the em- 
braces of Norngsuk. She entreated ; she remonstrated ; 
she wept and raved; but, finding riches irresistible, fled 
away into the uplands, and lived in a cave upon such 
berries as she could gather, and the birds or hares which 
she had the fortune to ensnare, taking care, at an hour 
when she was not likely to be found, to view the sea every 
day, that her lover might not miss her at his return. 

At last she saw the great boat in which Anningait had 
departed, stealing slow and heavy-laden along the coast. 
She ran with all the impatience of affection to catch her 
lover in her arms, and relate her constancy and sufferings. 
When the company reached land, they informed her, that 
Anningait, after the fishery was ended, being unable to 
support the slow passage of the vessel of carriage, had set 
out before them in his fishing-boat, and they expected at 
their arrival to have found him on shore. 

Ajut distracied at this intelligence, was about to fly into 
the hills, without knowing why, though she was now in the 
hands of her parents, who forced her back to their own hut, 
and endeavored to comfort her : but when »t last they 
retired to rest, Ajut went down to the beach ; where, 
finding a fishing-boat, she entered it without hesitation, and, 
telling those who wondered at her rashness, that she was 
going in search of Anningait, rowed away with great 
swiftness, and was seen no more. 

The fate of these lovers gave occasion to various 



304 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

fictions and conjectures. Some are of opinion that they 
were changed into stars ; others imagine that Anningait 
was seized in his passage by the genius of the rocks ; and 
that Ajut was transformed into a mermaid, and still con- 
tinues to seek her lover in the deserts of ihe sea. But the 
general persuasion is, that they are both in that part of the 
land of souls where the sun never sets, where oil is always 
fresh, and provisions always warm. The virgins sometimes 
throw a thimble and a needle into the bay from which the 
hapless maid departed ; and when any Greenlander would 
praise any couple for virtuous affection, he declares that 
they love like Anningait and Ajut. 



Dr. Robert Levet was the physician, daily visitor, and 
intimate friend of Dr. Johnson. This gentleman's medical 
practice was confined to the range of a few streets, and to 
the poorer class of people in London, yet he was respected 
for his skill and humanity. At his decease, which happened 
a few years before that of Dr. Johnson, the latter honored 
his memory by the following verses, which, as they cele- 
brate goodness and not greatness, and express veneration 
for genuine merit, are worthy to be preserved for the senti- 
ments they record. 



ON THE DEATH OF MR. ROBERT LEVET. 

Condemned to hope's delusive mine, 
As on we toil from day to day, 

By sudden blast, or slow decline, 
Our social comforts drop away 

Well tried through many a varying year, 
See Levet to the grave descend, 

Officious, innocent, sincere, 

Of every friendless name the friend. 

Yet still he fills Affection's eye, 
Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind ; 

Nor, lettered Arrogance, deny 
Thy praise to merit unrefined. 



G R A V . 305 

When fainting nature called for aid, 

And hovering death prepared the blow, 

His vigorous remedy displayed 

The power of art without the show. 

In misery's darkest cavern known, 

His useful care was ever nigh, 
Where hopeless anguisli poured the groan, 

And lonely want retired to die. 

No summons mocked by chill delay, 

No petty gain disdained by pride, 
The modest wants of every day 

The toil of every day supplied. 

His virtues walked their narrow round. 

Nor made a pause, nor left a void : 
And sure the Eternal Master found 

The single talent well employed 

The busy day — the peaceful night, 

Unfelt, uncounted, glided by; 
His fame was firm — his powers were bright, 

Though now his eightieth year was nigh. 

Then with no fiery throbbing pain. 

No cold gradations of decay. 
Death broke at once the vital chain. 

And freed his soul the nearest way. 



GRAY. 

Horn in 1Y16 — Died in 1771. 

Mr. Gray was accounted in his time, according to Dr. 
Johnson, the most learned man in Europe — doubtless he 
was among the most learned ; but his learning dignifies his 
memory less than his genius and his taste. Gray's letters, 
which give short sketches of the places and curiosities 



S06 POETRT B-OR SCHOOLS. 

which he visited as a traveller, and express the feelings of 
a good son, and an affectionate friend, exhibit the elegance 
of an accomplished mind, and the sentiments of a sincere 
and pure heart. The Elegy in a Country Church Yard, is 
the most popular of Gray's poems : it is not inserted here 
because it may be found in other miscellaneous collections. 

ODE ON THE SPRING. 

Lo ! where the rosy-bosomed Hours, 

Fair Venus' train, appear. 
Disclose the long-expected flowers, 

And wake the purple year ! 
The attic warbler* pours her throat. 
Responsive to the cuckoo's note, 

The untaught harmony of Spring : 
"While, whispering pleasures as they fly, 
Cool zephyrs through the clear blue sky 

Their gathered fragrance fling. 

Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch 

A broader browner shade, 
Where'er the rude or moss-grown beech 

O'er-canopies the glade. 
Beside some water's rushy brink 
With me the muse shall sit, and think 

(At ease reclined in rustic state) 
How vain the ardor of the crowd, 
How low, how little are the proud. 

How indigent the great 1 

Still is the toiling hand of Care ; 

The panting herds repose : 
Yet hark, how through the peopled air 

The busy murmur glows ! 
The insect youth are on the wing, 
Eager to taste the honied spring. 

And float amid the liquid noon : 
Some lightly o'er the current skim. 
Some show their gayly-gilded trim 

Quick-glancing to the sun. 

• The swallow. 



GRAY. 307 

To Contemplation's sober eye 

Such is the race of Man : 
And they that creep, and they that fly. 

Shall end where they began. 
Alike the busy and the gay 
But flutter through life's little day, 

In Fortune's varying colors dressed : 
Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance, 
Or chilled by age, their airy dance 

They leave, in dust to rest. 



ON THE DEAtH OF A FAVORITE CAT. 

Drowned in a tub of Gold Fishes. 

'T was on the lofty vase's side, 
Where China's gayest art had dyed 

The azure flowers that blow ; 
Demurest of the tabby kind. 
The pensive Selima reclined, 

Gazed on the lake below. 

Her conscious tail her joy declared ; 
The fair round face, the snowy beard, 

The velvet of her paws, 
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies, 
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, 

She saw ; and purred applause. 

Still had she gazed : but midst the tide 
Two angel forms were seen to glide, 

The Genii of the stream ; 
Their scaly armors' Tyrian hue 
Though richest purple, to the view 

Betrayed a golden gleam. 

The hapless Nymph with wonder saw ; 
A whisker first, and then a claw : 

With many an ardent wish. 
She stretched, in vain, to reach the prize ; 
What female heart can gold despise ? 

What cat 's averse to fish ? 



308 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Presumptuous Maid ! with looks intent 
Again she stretched, again she bent, 

Nor knew the gulf between : 
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled) 
The slippery verge her feet beguiled, 

She tumbled headlong in. 

Eight times emerging from the flood, 
, She mewed to every watery god, 

Some speedy aid to send. 
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirred : 
No cruel Tom, nor Susan heard, 

A favorite has no friend ! 

From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived. 
Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved, 

And be with caution bold. 
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes 
And heedless heart, is lawful prize, 

Nor all that ghstens gold. 



CAMPBELL. 

Thomas Campbell, the author of the Pleasures of Hope, 
of Gertrude of Wyoming, as a poet and critic ranked with 
the first writers of his time. He was born in Glasgow, 
September, 17V7, and died at Boulogne, in France, June 
15lh, 1844. His remains were conveyed to England and 
interred in the Poet's Corner, in Wesminster Abbey. 
Lochiel's Warning, one of Campbell's shorter pieces, is 
often read and recited in schools, but it cannot be compre- 
hended without some acquaintance with Scottish history 
and character. 

England and Scotland were governed by separate kings 
till 1603. In that year Elizabeth of England died, and 
named as her successor James VL of Scotland. James 
■was the son of Mary, Queen of Scots, and Henry Stuart, 
Lord Darnley. James was descended from Henry VII. of 
England, and among his ancestors was a long line of 



CAMPBELL. 309 

Scottish kings : as their descendants, the people of Scotland 
cherislied an ardent affection for James and his posterity. 
The Scots were remarkable for their attachment to power. 
The heads of the Clans, and the hereditary prince, were 
objects of the highest enthusiasm to that people, and they 
esteemed it a duty, and even a privilege, to die in their 
service. 

James was succeeded by his son Charles L, who did not 
know how to govern, and was beheaded by his subjects. 
After Charles' death, England was a commonwealth, or 
republic, governed for a few years by Oliver Cromwell. In 
1660, Charles Stuart, the second of that name, was made 
king of England, as the legitimate successor of his father, 
Charles I. Charles 11. died 1685, and his brother, James, 
duke of York, was immediately proclaimed king ; but by the 
laws of England he was incapacitated for the sovereignty. 

In the reigns of Edward VI. and his sister Elizabeth, the 
Protestant faith became the foundation of what is called the 
Established Church of England ; and it was made a law 
that the king, and all persons holding places under the 
government, should acknowledge themselves to be Pro- 
testants, and worship according to the forms prescribed by 
the national Church. James II. was a Catholic. When 
the people were convinced of this fact, and of the king's 
inclination to restore Popery in Britain, they sent over to 
Holland to William, prince of Orange, a grandson of Charles 
I., and to his wife, Mary, daughter of the English king, 
James II., to come over to England, and take the govern- 
ment upon themselves. William and Mary were crowned 
king and queen 1689. A party in Scotland, attached to 
the Stuarts, refused to acknowledge them, but in the same 
year the Scottish army was defeated at Killycrankie in 
Perthshire. 

The banished James endeavored to make friends in Ire- 
land, but his adherents were defeated by King William, at 
the battle of the Boyne, and he was forced to retire into 
France. The Jacobites ( the friends of James ) long 
continued their machinations to restore the Stuarts to 
the throne of Britain, but all their plans were ultimately 
frustrated. 

James Stuart died in France, in IVOI, and his daughter, 
the princess Anne, succeeded William III. She was pro- 
claimed queen in April, 1702, and died in 1714. Anne 



310 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

was succeeded by George I. of the house of Brunswick. 
George was a German prince, descended in the female Hne 
from James I. of England. This family were destined 
forever to exclude the Stuarts from the throne of Britain ; 
but one of that race, sometimes called the Pretender, and 
sometimes the. chevalier St. George, went from France to 
Scotland in 1715, and there, assisted by the favorers of his 
unfortunate pretensions, made some attempt to recover his 
forfeited inheritance. These were unavailing ; he was 
forced to return to France, and many of his adherents were 
considered traitors to their king and country. 

The rebellion of the Stuarts did not end here. The 
following narrative details its progress and termination. 

In 1*745 the son of the old Pretender resolved to make 
an effort at gaining the British crown. Being furnished 
with some money, and still larger promises from France, he 
embarked for Scotland on board a small frigate, accom- 
panied by the Marquis Tullibardine, and a few other 
desperate adventurers. For the conquest of the whole 
British empire, he brought with him seven officers, and 
arms for 2000 men. He landed on the coast of Lochabar, 
July 27, and was in a little time joined b}'^ some Highland 
chiefs and their vassals. He soon saw himself at the head 
of 1500 men, and invited others to join him by manifestoes, 
which were dispersed throughout all the Highlands. The 
English ministry was no sooner informed of the truth of his 
arrival, than Sir John Cope was ordered to oppose his 
progress. 

In the mean time, the young adventurer marched to 
Perth, where his father, the chevalier de St. George, had 
been proclaimed king of Great Britain. The rebel army 
advanced towards Edinburgh, which they entered without 
opposition. Here, too, the pageantry of proclamation was 
performed. But though the Pretender was master of the 
capital, yet the castle, with a good garrison, under the 
command of General Guest, braved all his attempts. Sir 
John Cope, who was now reinforced by two regiments of 
dragoons, resolved to march towards Edinburgh, and give 
him battle, but Prince Charles Edward attacked him near 
Preston Pans, and in a few minutes totally routed him and 
his troops. In this victory the king lost about 500 men, 
and the rebel not above 80. 

The Pretender went immediately forward with vigor ; 



CAMPBELL. 311 

and having advanced to Penritli, continued his irruption till 
he came to Manchester, where he estabhshed his liead- 
quarters ; from thence he prosecuted his route to Derb}' ; 
but he determined once more to return to Scotland. He 
effected his retreat to Carlisle without any loss, and having 
reinforced the garrison of the place crossed the rivers Eden 
and Solway into Scotland. 

After many attacks and skirmishes, the duke of Cum- 
berland, son of George II., the reigning king, put himself 
at the head of the troops of Edinburgh, which consisted 
of about 14,000 men. He resolved to come to a battle as 
soon as possible, and marched forward while the rebel army 
retired at his approach. The duke advanced to Aberdeen, 
where he was joined by the duke of Gordon, and some 
other lords. The Highlanders were drawn up in order of 
battle, on the plain of Culloden, to the number of 8000 
men. The duke marched thither, and the battle began 
about one o'clock in the afternoon, April 16. In less than 
thirty minutes, the rebels were totally routed, and the field 
was covered with their dead bodies. The duke immediately 
after the battle, ordered thirty-six deserters to be executed. 

The misfortunes of Prince Charles Edward in his perilous 
imdertaking, and his escape out of the British dominions, 
form a most extraordinary romance of real life. The novel 
of Waverly gives some interesting sketches of this Prince's 
enterprise, and particularly of the generosity and devoted- 
ness of his adherents. The British government made a 
most severe example of the misguided men, who sacrificed 
themselves to their principles of loyalty, but so elevated 
were their motives that it is impossible not to deplore their 
fate. Tlie principal chiefs engaged in this rebellion were 
executed at Carlisle, Culloden, and other places, and 
thousands of inferior condition were transported to foreign 
countries. 

Lochiel, the chief of the warlike clan of the Camerons, 
engaged in this unhappy cause. " His memory is still 
cherished among the Highlanders, by the appellation of 
tiie gentle Lochiel, for he was famed for his social virtues 
as much as for his martial and magnanimous (though mis- 
taken) loyalty." 

Before Lochiel had led his followers to the standard of 
the Pretender, it is related that a Seer forewarned him of 
the catastrophe which awaited the rebels. This remon- 



312 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

strance is the foundation of Lochiel's Warning. The less 
informed of the Scots, from time immemorial, have 
cherished a heUef in the gift of second sight — or gift of 
prophecy. The second sight, say those who believe in it, 
is an actual perception which the gifted person has of things 
absent and future, which he can afterwards describe to 
otliers, and which usually intimates some important event. 
Ellen, in the Lady of the Lake, tells the stranger Knight, 

" Old Allanbane foretold your plight, — 
A gray-haired sire, whose eye intent. 
Was on the visioned future bent." 

j.ochiel's warning. 

Wizard — Lochiel ! Lochiel, beware of the day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight : 
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown • 
Wo, wo to the riders that trample them down ! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain. 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far '? 
'Tis thine, oh Glenulin ! whose bride shall await. 
Like a love-liohted watch-fire, all nio-ht at the gate. 
A steed comes at morning ; no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
Weep, Albin / to death and captivity led ! 
Oh weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead : 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, 
Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 

Lochiel. — Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling 
seer ! 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear. 
Draw, dotaril, around thy old wavering sight 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 

Wizard. — Ha ! laugh'st thou Lochiel, my vision to scorn ? 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! 
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, 
From his home, in the dark lolling clouds of the north? 
Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding he rode 
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; 



CAMPBELL. 313 

But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! 
Ah ! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. 
Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the blast 
Those embers, like stars from the fii'mament cast ? 
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
From his eyrie that beacons the darkness of heaven. 
Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlement's height, 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn; 
Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood. 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. 

Lochiel. — False Wizard avaunt! I have marshalled my clan. 
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one ! 
They are true to the last of tlieir blood and their breath, 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome is Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock! 
But wo to his kindred, and wo to his cause. 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud ; 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array — 

Wizard. — Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day ! 
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 
But man cannot cover what God would reveal 
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows before. 
I tell thee Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 
With the blood-hounds that baik for thy fugitive king. 
Lo ! anointed by heaven with vials of wrath, 
Behold, where he flies on his desolate path ! 
Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight : 
Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight. 
'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors, 
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores ; 
But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where? 
For the red eye of the battle is shut in despair. 
Say, mounts he the ocean- wave, banished forlorn? 
Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn? 
Ah no ! for a darker departure is near, 
The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier ! 

27 



314 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

His death-bell is tolling ; oh ! mercy dispel 

Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 

Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, 

And his blood -streaming nostril in agony swims. 

Accursed be the fagots that blaze at liis feet. 

Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to beat, 

With the smoke of his ashes to poison the gale 

Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale ; 

Though my perishing rank should be strewn in their gore. 

Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, 

Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 

While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 

Shall victor exult, or in dea:h be laid low, 

With his back to the field and his feet to the foe 

And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 

Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. 

Weep Alhin. — Scotland, or literally, people of Scotland, 
Proud bird of the motmtain. — The Wizard here address- 
es Lochiel figuratively, and speaks of the ruin which is im- 
peding over his house, as a fire shower destined to consume 
the eyrie or eagle's nest — that signifies the chief's home 
and his family. 

A darker departure is near. — The agonizing description 
given in the lines which follow to the end of the passage, 
refer to a fact. " The brother of Lochiel returned to Eng- 
land ten years after the rebellion, though he acted only as 
a surgeon in the rebel army, suffered the dreadful fate here 
predicted, by a sentence which happily has no parallel for 
needless severity in the modern history of state trials in 
this humane age." 

THE LAST MAN. 

All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, 

The Sun himself must die. 
Before this mortal shall assume 

Its Immortality ! 
I saw a vision in my sleep, 
That gave my spirit strength to sweep 

Adown the gulf of Time ? 
I saw the last of human mould, 
That shall Cieation's death behold, 

As Adam saw her prime ! 



CAMPBELL. 316 

The Sun's eye had a sickly glare, 

The Earth with age was wan ; 
The skeletons of nations were 

Around that lonely man ! 
Some had expired in fight, — the brands* 
Still rusted in their bony hands ; 

In plague and faniine some ! 
Earth's cities had no sound nor tread; 
And ships were drifting with the dead, 

To shores where all was dumb ! 

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, 

With dauntless words and high. 
That shook the seref leaves from the wood. 

As if a storm passed by, 
Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun ; 
Thy face is cold, thy race is run. 

'T is Mercy bids thee go ; 
For thou ten thousand thousand years 
Hast seen the tide of human tears. 

That shall no longer flow. 

What though beneath thee man put forth 

His pomp, his pride, his skill ; 
And arts that made fire, flood, and earth, 

The vassals of his will ; — 
Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, 
Thou dim, discrowned king of day ; 

For all those trophied arts 
And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, 
Healed not a passion or a pang 

Entailed on human hearts. 

Go, — let oblivion's curtain fall 

Upon the stage of men, 
Nor with thy rising beams recall 

Life's tragedy again. 
Its piteous pageants bring not back. 
Nor waken flesh, upon the rack 

Of pain anew to writhe ; 
Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred. 
Or mown in battle by the sword, 

Like grass beneath the scythe. 

• Swords, t Withered. 



316 POETRYFORSCHOOLS. 

E'en I am weary in yon skies 

To watch thy fading fire ; 
Test of all sumless agonies, 

Behold not me expire. 
My lips that speak thy dirge of death, — 
Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath 

To see, thou shalt not boast. 
The Eclipse of Nature spreads my pall, — 
The majesty of Darkness shall 

Receive my parting ghost ! 

This spirit shall return to Him 

That gave its heavenly spark ; 
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim 

When thou thyself art dark ! 
No ! it shall live again, and shine. 
In bliss unknown to beams of thine: 

By Him recalled to breath, 
Who captive led Captivity, 
Who robbed the grave of Victory, — 

And took the sting from Death ! 

Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up 

On Nature's awful waste, 
To drink this last and bitter cup 

Of grief that man shall taste ; 
Go, tell the night that hides thy face. 
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race, 

On Earth's sepulchral clod, 
The darkening universe defy 
To quench his Immortality, 

Or shake his trust in God ! 

THE soldier's DREAM. 

Our bugles sang truce — for the night cloud had lowered, 
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; 

And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, 
The weary to sleep and the wounded to die. 

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw. 
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain ; 

At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw. 
And thiice ere the moruincf I dreamt it ao^jiin. 



M I L M A N . 317 

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array. 
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track ; 

*T was autumn — and sunshine arose on the way 

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back, 

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft 

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; 

I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, 

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. 

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly 1 swore 

From my home and my weeping friends never to part ; 

My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er. 

And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. 

Stay, stajj^ with us — rest, thou art weary and worn : 
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; 

But sorroAV returned with the dawning of morn, 
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 



M I L M A N . 



Mr. Milraan is a British poet. He takes his subjects 
principally from Scripture history. 

The following verses are a song of some Jews, who 
deplore the captivity of their nation, which they represent 
under the scripture figure that describes the Hebrew people 
as a vine, trodden down by the devastation of their enemies. 
The remembrance of God's mercies and promises always 
animated this unfortunate people, and in the deepest aftlic- 
tion they celebrate their deliverance from Egyptian bondage. 

SONG OF THE JEWS. 
Chorus. 

Kin IT of Kinsfs ! and Lord of Lords 
Thus we move, our sad steps tiramg 
To our cymbals' feeblest chiming, 

Where thy house its rest accords. 

27* 



318 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Chased and wounded birds are we. 
Through the dark air fled to thee ; 
To the shadow of thy wings, 
Lord of Lords ! and King of Kings ! 

Behold, oh Lord ! the Heathen tread 

The branches of thy fruitful vine, 
That its luxurious tendrils spread 

O'er all tlie hills of Palestine. 
And now the wild boar comes to waste 
Even us, the greenest boughs, and last, 
That, drinking of thy choicest dew, 
On Zion's hill, in beauty grew. 

No ! by the marvels of thine hand. 
Thou wilt save thy chosen land ! 
By all thine ancient mercies shown, 
By all our fathers' foes o'erthrown ; 
By the Egyptian's car-borne host. 
Scattered on the Red Sea coast ; 
By that wide and bloodless slaughter 
Underneath the drowning water. 

Like us, in utter helplessness, 
In their last and worst distress — 
On the sand and sea-weed lying, 
Israel poured her doleful sighing ; 
While before the deep sea flowed, 
And behind fierce Egypt rode — 
To their fathers' God they prayed. 
To the Lord of Hosts for aid. 

On the margin of the flood 

With lifted rod the Prophet stood ; 

And the summoned east wind blew. 

And aside it sternly threw 

The gathered waves, that took their stand 

Like crystal rocks, on either hand. 

Or walls of sea-green marble piled 

Round some irregular city wild. 

Then the light of morning lay 
On the wonder-paved way. 



Where the treasures of the deep 
In tlieir caves of coral sleep. 
The profound abysses, where 
Was never sound from upper air. 
Rang with Israel's chanted words. 
King of Kings ! and Lord of Lords ! 

Then with bow and banner glancing, 

On exulting Egypt came, 
With her chosen horsemen prancing. 

And her cars on wheels of flame, 
In a rich and boastful ring, 
All around her furious king. 

But the Lord from out his cloud, 
The Lord looked down upon the proud; 
And the host drave heavily 
Down the deep bosom of the sea 

With a quick and sudden swell 
Prone the liquid ramparts fell ; 
Over horse, and over car, 
Over every man of war, 
Over Pharaoh's crown of gold 
The loud thundering billows rolled. 

As the level waters spread, 

Down they sank, they sank like lead, 

Down sank without a cry or groan, 

And the morning sun, that shone 

On myriads of bright-armed men. 

Its meridian radiance then 

Cast on a wide sea, hea\ang as of yore. 

Against a silent, solitary shore. 

The preceding article is made intelligible by the thir- 
teenth and fourteenth chapters of Exodus : 

And they took their departure from Succoth, and 
encamped in Etham, in the edge of the wilderness. And 
the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of a cloud, 
to lead them the way ; and by night in a pillar of fire, to 
give them light to go by day and night. He took not 
away the pillar of the cloud by day, nor the pillar of fire 
by night, from before the people. 



320 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

And it was told the king of Eg3^pt that the people fled : 
and the heart of Pharaoh and of his servants was turned 
against the people, and they said, Why have we done this, 
that we have let Israel go fi-om ser\'ing us ? And he made 
ready his chariot, and took his people with him ; and he 
^took six hundred chosen chariots, and all the chariots of 
Egypt, and captains over every one of them. And the 
Lord hardened the heart of Pharaoh, king of Egypt, and 
he pursued after the children of Israel : and the children 
of Israel went out with an high hand. But the Egyptians 
pursued after them, all the horses and chariots of Pharaoh, 
and his horsemen, and his arnij^ and overtook them 
encamping by the sea, beside Pi-hahiroth, before Baal- 
zephon. 

And when Pharaoh drew nigh, the children of Israel 
lifted up their eyes, and, behold, the Egyptians marched 
after them ; and they were sore afraid : and the children 
of Israel cried out unto the Lord. 

And Moses said unto the people, Fear ye not, stand 
still, and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will show 
to you to-day : for the Egyptians whom ye have seen 
to-day, ye sliall see them agnin no more forever. The 
Lord shall fight for you, and ye sliall hold your peace. 

And the Lord said unto Moses, Wherefore criest thou 
unto me? Speak unto the children, that they go for- 
ward : but lift up thy rod, and stretch out thine hand over 
the sea, and divide it; and the children of Israel shall go 
on dry ground through the midst of the sea. And I, 
behold, I will harden the hearts of the Egyptians, and they 
shall follow them : and I will get me honor upon Pharaoh, 
and upon all his host, upon his chariots, and upon his 
horsemen. And the Egyptians shall know that I am the 
Lord, when I have gotten me honor upon Pharaoh, upon 
his chariots, and upon his horsemen. 

And the angel of God, which went before the camp 
of Israel, removed and went behind them ; and the pillar 
of the cloud went from before tlieir face, and stood behind 
them : and it came between the camp of the Egyptians and 
the camp of Israel; and it was a cloud and darkness to 
them, but it gave light by night to these : so that the one 
came not near the other all the night. And Moses 
stretched out his hand over the sea : and the Lord caused 
the sea to go back by a strong east wind all that night, and 



MILMAN. 321 

iTiade the sea dry land, and the waters were divided. And 
the childi-en of Israel went into the midst of the sea upon 
the dry ground : and the watei-s were a wall unto them on 
their right hand, and on their left. 

And the Egyptians pursued, and went in after them 
to the midst of the sea, even all Pharaoh's horses, his 
chariots, and his horsemen. And it came to pass, that in 
the morning watch the Lord looked unto the host of the 
Egyptians through the pillar of fire, and of the cloud, and. 
troubled the host of the Egyptians, and took off their 
chariot wheels, that they drave them heavily : so that the 
Egyptians said, Let us flee from the face of Israel ; for the 
Loi-d fighteth for them against the Egyptians, 

And the Lord said unto Moses, Stretch out thine hand 
over the sea, that the waters may come again upon the 
Egyptians, upon their chariots, and upon their horsemen. 
And Moses stretched forth his hand over the sea, and the 
sea returned to his strength when the morning appeared ; 
and the Egyptians fled against it ; and the Lord overthrew 
the Egyptians in the midst of the sea. And the waters 
returned, and covered the chariots, and the horsemen, and. 
all the host of Pharaoh that came into the sea after them : 
there remained not so much as one of them. But the 
children of Israel walked upon dry land in the midst of the 
sea ; and the waters wei-e a wall unto them on their right 
hand, and on their left. Thus the Lord saved Israel that 
day out of the hand of the Egyptians ; and Israel saw the 
Egyptians dead upon the sea-shore. And Israel saw that 
great work which the Lord did upon the Egyptians ; and 
the people feared the Lord, and believed the Lord, and his 
servant Moses, 

TITUS BEFORE JERUSALEM. 

Christ, when he was upon earth, admonished his country- 
man to submit to the political circumstances in which they 
were placed. " Render," said he, " to Cassar, the things 
that are Ccesar's." The Roman Emperor's title was Caesar. 
Our Saviour's exhortation amounted to this : — Pay the 
taxes imposed upon you, and conform patiently to oppres- 
sions which you cannot remove. But he knew that to 
them his preaching was vain. They knew not what 
belonged to their peace, and Jesus foresaw that they would 
at last provoke the severest punishment wliich the Roman 



322 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

power could inflict. He wept over Jerusalem, and as be 
fixed his eyes upon the great temple of the Jews, declared 
that of it not one stone should i-emain upon another. 

During forty years which succeeded this prophecy, the 
Roman Emperor and the provincials of Judea kept up mutual 
ill-will and frequent hostility, till the Emperor Vespasian 
sent a powerful army under his son Titus against this devo- 
ted city. Titus lamented the necessitij he was under to de- 
stroy Jerusalem, for he acted under the Emperor's orders ; 
which were, if the Jews would not peaceably submit to the 
Roman arms, to take possession of their city at any price of 
severity and destruction. 

Mr. Milman fancies Titus, while his forces v/ere in a state 
of preparation for the attack of Jerusalem, to survey the city, 
and to express at once his admiration of her beauty and 
splendor, and his deep regret that his painful duty was ta 
destroy all the art and majesty of so fair a scene. 

" It must be ' 



And yet it moves me, Romans ! it confounds 
The counsel of my firm philosophy. 
That ruin's merciless plowshare must pass o'er^ 
And barren salt be sown on yon, proud city. 
As on our olive-crowned hill we stand. 
Where Kedron at our feet its scanty waters 
Distils from stone to stone with gentle motion. 
As through a valley sacred to sweet peace. 
How boldly doth it front us ! how majestically! 
Like a luxurious vineyard, the hill side 
Is hung with marble fabiics, line o'er line, 
Terrace o'er terrace, nearer still, and nearer 
To the blue iitnivens. 

Here brig! it and sumptuous palaces. 
With cool and verdant gardens interspersed ,' 
Here towers of war that frown in massy strength ; 
While over all hangs the rich purple eve, 
As conscious of its being her last farewell 
Of light and glory to that faded city. 
And as our clouds of battle dust and smoke 
Are melted into air, behold the temple. 
In undisturbed and lone serenity, 
Finding itself a solemn sanctuary 
In the profound of heaven ! 



JERUSALEM, 323 

It stands before us 
A mount of snow, fretted with golden pinnacles 
The very sun, as though he worshipped there, 
Lingers upon the gilded cedar roofs : 
And down the long and branching porticos. 
On every flower-sculptured capital. 
Glitters the homage of his parting beams. 
By Hercules ! the sight might almost win 
The offended majesty of Rome to mercy." 

Jerusalem was built upon two hills opposite to each other, 
and divided by a valley ; the valley terminated at the 
fountain of Siloam. This fountain was celebrated for the 
sweetness and abundance of its waters, which flowed near 
the temple — Hence Milton says, 

Siloa's brook which flowed 



Fast by the oracle of God. 

The l^rook Kedron, or Cedron, separated Jerusalem from 
the Mount of Olives, on whicli was Gethsemane, and the 
garden where Jesus prayed and sufi"ered so bitterly. 

JERUSALEM. 

Like a queen, 



Armed with a helm in virgin loveliness. 

Her heaving bosom in a bossy cuirass, 

She sits aloft begirt with battlements 

And bulwarks swelling from the rock, to guard 

The sacred courts, pavilions, palaces. 

Soft gleaming through the umbrage of the woods 

Which tuft the summit, and like raven tresses. 

Wave their dark beauty round the tower of David, 

Resplendent with a thousand bucklers. 

The embrazures of alabaster shine ; 

Hailed by the pilgrims of the desert, bound 

To Judah's mart with orient merchandize. 

Hillhouse. 

Jerusalem, the city of modern Palestine, and the capital 
of Judea, was more anciently Jebus, and was taken by Da- 
vid, incorporated into his dominions, and consecrated to the 



324 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

worsliip of the God of Israel. David fortified and embel- 
ished Jerusalem, and his son Solomon erected the temple, 
whither the Jews repaired annually to celebrate the feast 
of the passover. This city, now often called the Holy 
City, was ever an object of attachment and veneration to 
the Jews, and in the time of Christ was the resort and resi- 
dence of many foreigners. Jerusalem was at that time sub- 
ject to the Romans, but a spirit of revolt against their for- 
eign masters, exposed the Jews to their vengeance. Christ 
foretold the destruction of it, and his prophecy was accom- 
plished by Titus, A. D. 70. 

Modern Jerusalem is included in the Turkish dominions 
— none of the splendor which Mr. Hillhouse describes now 
remains, but there are many monuments of Christianity, and 
it is interesting to the traveller as the scene of the greatest 
prosperity and dignity of that extraordinary nation, the 
Jews ; and more particularly as the place where Christ 
performed many of his miracles, where he promulgated the 
doctrines of our religion, and where he was crucified and 
buried. 

javan's lamentation. 

Javan, a Christian soldier, after the siege of Jerusalem, 
thus deplores its destruction. 

Oh, fair and favored city, where of old 
Tlie balmy airs were rich with melody ; 
That led her pomp beneath the cloudless sky 
In vestments flaming with the orient gold ! 
Hei' gold is dim, and mute her music's voice. 
The heathen o'er her perished pomp rejoice. 

How stately then was every palm-decked street, 
Down which the maidens danced with tinkling feet! 

How proud the elders in the lofty gate ! 
How crowded all her nations solemn feasts ! 
With white-robed Levites, and high-mitred Priests ; 

How gorgeous all her temples' sacred state ! 

Her streets are razed, her maidens sold for slaves, 
Her gates thrown down, lier elders in their graves ; 



M I L M A N . 325 

Her feasts are liolden 'mid the Gentile's scorn ; 
By stealth her Priesthood's holy garments worn ; 
And where her Temple crowned the glittering rock, 
The wandering shepherd folds his evening flock. 

ODE TO THE SAVIOUR. 

For thou wert born of woman ! thou didst come. 

Oh Holiest ! to this world of sin and gloom, 
Not in thy dread omnipotent array, 
And not by thunders strewed 
Was thy tempestuous road ; 
Nor indignation burnt before thee on thy way. 
But thee, a soft and naked child. 

Thy mother undefiled 
In the rude manger laid to rest 
From off her virgin breast. 

The heavens were not commanded to prepare 
A gorgeous canopy of golden air ; 
Nor stooped their lamps the enthroned fires on high : 
A single silent star 
Came wandering from afar, 
Gliding unchecked and calm along the liquid sky ; 
The Eastern sages leading on 

As at a kingly throne, 
To lay their gold and odors sweet 
Before thy infant feet. 

The Earth and Ocean were not hushed to hear 
Bright harmony from every starry sphere ; 
Nor at thy presence broke the voice of song 
From all the cherub choirs. 
And seraph's burning lyres, 
Poured thro' the host of heaven the charmed clouds along. 
One angel-troop the strain began. 

Of all the race of man 
By simple shepherds heard alone, 
That soft Hosanna's tone. 

And when thou didst depart, no car of flame 
To bear thee hence in lambent radiance came ; 
Nor visible angels mourned with drooping plumes : 
28 



326 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

Nor didst thou mount on high 
From fatal Calvary 
With all thy own redeemed out-bursting from their tombs. 
For thou didst bear away from earth 

But one of human birth, 
The dying felon by thy side, to be 
In Paradise with thee. 

Nor o'er thy cross the clouds of vengeance brake ; 
A little while the conscious earth did shake 
At that foul deed by her fierce children done y 
A few dim hours of day 
The world in darkness lay ; 
Then basked in briglit repose beneath the cloudless sua. 
While thou didst sleep within the tomb, 

Consenting to thy doom ; 
Ere yet the white-robed angel shone 
Upon the sealed stone. 

And when thou didst arise, thou didst not stand 
With Devastation in thy red right hand, 
Plaguing the guilty city's murderous crew; 
But thou didst haste to meet 
Thy mother's coming feet, 
And bear the words of peace unto the faithful few. 
Then calmly, slowly, didst thou rise 

Into thy native skies, 
Thy human form dissolved on high 
In its own radiancy. 



The first chapter of the first book of Samuel relates the 
history of that venerable man's childhood. It describes his 
father's and mother's mutual affection, and the piety of 
Hannah. Hannah prayed to God for this son, and pro- 
mised that from his birth he should be set apart for the 
services of religion ; and when God had answered her 
praver, and given her the child, as soon as the young 
Samuel was old enough for the temple service, his mother, 
accompanied him to the Lord's house, and presented him 
to Eli the high priest, saying, as she offered him, " Oh my 
lord, as thy soul liveth, my lord, I am the woman that 



HEMANS. 327 

stood by thee here, praying unto the Lord. For this child 
I prayed ; and the Lord hath given me my petition which 
I asked of him ; therefore also I have lent him to the 
Lord ; as long as he liveth he shall be lent to the Lord. 
And he worshipped the Lord there." Mrs. Hemans has 
made an interesting picture of this affecting transaction, 

THE HEREW MOTHER. 

The rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain, 

When a young mother with her first-born thence 

Went up to Zion, for the boy was vowed 

Unto the Temple-service ; by the hand 

She led him, and her silent soul, the while, 

Oft as the dewy laughter of his eye 

Met her sweet serious glance, rejoiced to think 

That aught so pure, so beautiful was hers, 

To bring before her God. So passed they on. 

O'er Judah's hills ; and wheresoe'er the leaves 

Of the broad Sycamore made sounds at noon, 

Like lulling rain-drops, or the olive-boughs. 

With their cool dimness crossed the sultry blue 

Of Syria's heaven, she paused that he might rest ; 

Yet from her own meek eyelids chased the sleep 

That weighed her dark fringe down, to sit and watch 

The crimson deepening o'er his cheeks repose. 

As at a red flower's heart. 

And where a fount 
Lay like a twilight star midst palmy shades, 
Making its banks green gems along the wild. 
There too she lingered, from the diamond wave 
Drawing briglit water for his rosy lips, 
And softly parting clusters of jet cui'ls 
To bathe his brow. At last the fane was reach'd 
The Earth's One Sanctuary — and rapture hushed 
Her bosom, as before her through the day. 
It rose, a mountain of white marble, steeped 
In light, like floating gold 

But when that hour 
Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy 
Lifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye 
Beseechingly to hers, and half in fear 
Turned from the white-robed priest, and round her arm 



328 FOETRT FOR SCHOOLS, 

Clung as the ivy clings — the deep spring-tide 
Of Nature then swelled high, and o'er her child 
Bending, her soul broke forth, in mingled sound 
Of weeping and sad song. — " Alas," she cried, 
•' Alas ! my boy, thy gentle grasp is on me, 
The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes. 

And now fond thoughts arise. 
And silver cords again to earth have Avon me ; 
And like a vine thou claspest my full heart — 

How shall I hence depart ? 

How the lone paths retrace where thou wert playing: 
So late, along the mountains at my side ? 

And I in joyous pride. 
By every place of flowers my course delaying 
Wove, e'en as pearls, the lilies round thy hair. 

Beholding thee so fair ! 

And oh ! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted. 
Will it not seem as if the sunny day 

Turned from its door away ? 
While through its chambers wandering, weary hearted, 
I languish for thy voice, which past me still 

Went like a singing rill ? 

Under the palm-trees thou no more shalt meet me. 
When from the fount, at evening I return, 

With the full water-urn ; 
Nor will thy sleep's low dove-like breathings greet me. 
As midst the silence of the stars I wake. 

And watch for thy dear sake. 

And thou, will slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee. 
Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed ? 

Wilt thou not vainly spread 
Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee. 
To fold my neck, and lift up in thy fear, 

A cry which none shall hear ? 

What have I said, my child ? — Will He not hear thee. 
Who the young ravens heareth from their nest ? 

Shall he not guard thj' rest. 
And in the hush of holy midnight near thee. 



HEMANS. S29 

Breathe o'er thy soul, and fill its dreams with joy ? 
Thou shalt sleep soft, ray boy ! 

I give thee to thy God — tlie God that gave thee, 
A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart ! 

And precious as thou art, 
And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee, 
My own, my beautiful, my undefiled 1 

And thou shalt be His child. 

Therefore farewell ! — I go, my soul may fail me. 
As the hart panteth for the water-brooks, 

Yearning for thy sweet looks — 
But thou, my first-born, droop not, nor bewail me^ 
Thou in the shadow of the Rock shalt dwell. 

The Rock of strength. — Farewell." 

At last the fane was reached. 

Fane means a place of worship. Hence ye 'profane, is a 
poetic expression. The word profane thus used, means the 
unholy — those who are not instructed in religion, or not 
capable of understanding and feeling any thing beautiful. — 
Profane is often used in another sense, merely signifying not 
religious. Thus Profane History is history of secular or 
worldly affairs. 

The earth's one sanctuary. — Other nations beside the 
Hebrews observed religious worship, and had splendid tem- 
ples in honor of their Gods, — but those were false gods, 
and Mrs. Hemans supposes that the " house of the Lord 
in Shiloh," was the only temple then upon earth where the 
Lord had set his name, and where he was worshipped in 
the spirit and purity which he had revealed to a chosen 
people. 

Mrs. Hemans has given a brief but delightful sketch of 
the climate and scenery of Judea. The " olive boughs." 
the " palmy shades," and the fountain by the way side, a. 
cording to Dr. Clarke, are still features of a country where, 
though names, rulers and religions are changed, nature is 
still the same, and where the pastoral simplicity of ancient 
manners yet remains — where Rachel still tends the flocks, 
and Rebecca bears her pitcher to the well. 

Thomas Moore in one of his poems describes the deli- 
cious climate of Svria and Palestine, with their productions. 
28* 



830 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

SYRIA. 

Now, upon Syria's land of roses 
Softly the light of eve reposes, 
And like a glory, the broad sun 
Hangs over sainted Lebanon ; 
Whose head in Wintry grandeur towers. 

And whitens with eternal sleet. 
While summer, in a vale of flowers 
Is sleeping rosy at his feet. 

To one, who looked from upper air 

O'er all the enchanted regions there, 

How beauteous must have been the glow. 

The life, the sparkling from below ! 

Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks . 

Of golden melons on their banks. 

More golden where the sun-light falls ; — 

Gay lizards, glittering on the walls 

Of ruined shrines, busy and bright 

As they were all alive with light ; — 

And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks 
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks, 
With their rich restless wings, that gleam 
Variously in the crimson beam 
Of the warm west, — as if inlaid 
With brilliants from the mine, or made 
Of tearless rainbows, such as span 
The unclouded skies of Peristan ! 
And then, the mingling sounds that come. 
Of shepherd's ancient reed, with hum 
Of the wild bees of Palestine, 

Banqueting through the flowery vales; 
And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine. 

And woods, so full of nightingales ! 



MOORS. 331 



THOMAS MOORE. 

Mr. Moore is a native of Ireland. Only a small portion 
of his writings are of a serious character ; but two of his 
hymns are selected as illustrative of his sacred poetry. He 
is now (1849) about sixty-eight years of age, but reduced 
to a state of hopeless imbecility. 

THE UNIVERSE GOD's TEMPLE. 

The turf shall be my fragrant shrine, 
My temple. Lord ! that arch of thine ; 
My censer's breath the mountain airs. 
And silent thoughts my only prayers-* 

My choir shall be the moonlight waves. 
When murmuring homeward to their cavesj 
Or when the stillness of the sea, 
Even more than music, breathes of thee ! 

I'll seek, by day, some glade unknown. 
All light and silence, like thy throne ! 
And the pale stars shall be, at night, 
The only eyes that watch my rite. 

Thy heaven, on which 't is bliss to look, 
Shall be my pure and shining book. 
Where I shall read, in words of flame, 
The glories of thy wondrous name. 

I'll read thy anger in the rack 

That clouds awhile the day-beam's track ; 

Thy mercy in the azure hue 

Of sunny brightness, breaking through ! 

There's nothing bright, above, below. 
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow, 
But in its light my soul can see 
Some feature of thy Deity. 

• Pii orant tacite. 



332 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

There's nothing dark, below, above, 
But in its gloom I trace thy love, 
And meekly wait that moment, when 
Thy touch shall turn all bright again ! 



THE KINGDOM COME. 

These verses repeat the figures by which the Hebrew 
prophets, Isaiah and others, indicate the reign of Christ. 
The Jews believed he would be their political ruler, and 
the splendid oriental imagery by which the circumstances 
of his power were illustrated in the prophetical writings, 
led them to presume that he would be arrayed in all the 
magnificence of eastern monarchs. 

Those who know the histor}' of the Christian religion, 
know, that though the life of Jesus was humble, and his 
death ignominious, yet kings and princes, " from every 
nook of earth " have acknowledged the truth of this reli- 
gion, and that every nation of civilized men is subject ia 
some measure to the blessed influence of Christianity. 

Awake, arise !* thy light is come ! 

The nations that before outshone thee 
Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb — 

The glory of the Lord is on thee ! 

Arise — the Gentiles to thy ray, 

From every nook of earth shall cluster ; 

And kings and princes haste to pay 
Their homage to thy rising lustre. 

Lift up thine eyes around, and see. 

O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters. 

Thy exiled sons returned to thee, 

To thee return thy home-sick daughters. 

And camels rich, from Midian's tents 

Shall lay their treasures down before thee, 

And Saba bring her gold and scents, 
To fill thy air and sparkle o'er thee. 

• The Jews, or Hebrew people. 



MOORE. 333 

See who are these, that like a cloud, 

Are gathering from all earth's dominions. 

Like doves long absent, when allowed 

Homeward to shoot their trembling pinions ! 

Surely the isles shall wait for thee, — 
The ships of Tarshish round shall hover, 

To bring thy sons across the sea, 

And waft their gold and silver over : 

And Lebanon thy pomp shall grace — 
The fir, the pine, the palm vistorious 

Shall beautify thy holy place, 

And make the ground we tread on glorious. 

No more shalt discord haunt thy ways 
Nor ruin waste thy cheerless nation ; 

But thou shalt call the -portals praise, 
And thou shalt name thy walls salvation. 

The sun no more shall make thee bright, 
Nor moon shall lend her lustre to thee — 

But God himself shall be thy light. 
And flash eternal glory through thee. 

Thy sun shall never more go down ; 

A ray from heaven itself descended, 
Shall light thy everlasting crown — 

Thy days of mourning all are ended. 

My own elect and righteous land ! 

Thy branch, for ever green and vernal, 
Which I have planted with this hand, 

Live thou shalt, in life eternal. 

This piece, throughout, is an address to a people chosen 
by God for his own. The Jews believe that they were this 
people, and their city, Jerusalem, was the metropolis of 
this happy nation ; but they, whose God is the Lord, form 
this people every where. " He that worketh righteous- 
ness " of all nations, belongs to the great family of the 
just, and the place where ho abides is holy, for he dwell- 
eth in God, and God in him. 



334 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



MRS. BARBAULD 



Anna Laetitia Barbauld was. the daughter of Dr. Aikin: 
she is memorable for her happy talent in instructing the 
young, for her accomphshments, her elegant criticisms, her 
excellent moral writings in poetry and prose, and above all, 
for her sincere piety and exemplary conduct through life. 
']'his lady died at the age of eighty-one, near London, 
Miirch, 1825. 

In the thiid chapter of Ilabakkuk the prophet gives a 
description of God's power, and of his displeasure against 
the wicked. The whole passage is highly figurative, only 
a small part of it can be literally understood. But the 
"terrors of the Lord" did not alarm the prophet: he 
knew that the meek, and they who seek righteousness, are 
safe in the day of God's anger; and though he trembled 
at the indignation of God against the transgressor, he 
trusted in the mercy which endureth for ever ; and he says, 

" Although the tig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall 
fruit be in the vines ; the labor of the olive shall fail, and 
the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cutoff 
from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: 
yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my 
salvation." Mrs. Barbauld has paraphrased this passage 
thus : 

Praise to God, immortal praise, 
For the love that crowns our days ; 
Bounteous source of every joy. 
Let thy praise our tongues employ ; 

For the blessings of the field, 
For tlie stores the gardens yield, 
For the vine's exalted juice, 
Far the generous olive's use ; 

Flocks that whiten all the plain, 
Yellow sheaves of ripened grain ; 
Clouds that drop their fattening dews, 
Suns that temperate warmth diffuse : 



WILLIAMS. 835 

All that spring with bounteous hand. 
Scatters o'er the smiling land ; 
All that liberal autumn pours 
From her rich o'erflowing stores . 

These to thee, our God ! we owe ; 
Source whence all our blessings flow ; 
And for these our souls shall raise 
Grateful v^ows and solemn praise. 

Yet should rising whirlwinds tear 
From its stem the ripening ear ; 
Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot 
Drop her green untimely fruit ; 

Should the vine put forth no more, 
Nor the olive yield her store ; 
Though the sickening flocks should fall. 
And the herds desert the stall ; 

Should thine altered hand restrain 
Vernal showers and latter rain ; 
Blast each opening bud of joy. 
And the rising year destroy : 

Still to thee our souls shall raise 
Grateful vows and solemn praise ; 
And, when every blessing's flown, 
Love thee — for thyself alone. 



MISS WILLIAMS. 

Helen Maria Williams was an English lady, long resident 
in France. She subsisted by the exertion of her talents, 
as a writer and translator, and was considered an ornament 
to society from the elegance of her conversation, and the 
liberality of her sentiments. Miss Williams died in Paris 
in 1829. A single specimen of her poetry will serve to 
inspire reverence for her piety. 



336 P O E T U Y F U H SCHOOLS. 

GOD BEEN IN ALL. 

My God ! all nature owns thy sway ; 
Thou giv'st the night and thou the day ; 
When all thy loved creation wakes, 
When morning, rich in lustre, breaks. 
And bathes in dew the opening flower, 
To thee we owe her fragrant hour ; 
And when she pours her coral song. 
Her melodies to thee belong. 

Or, when in paler tints arrayed, 
The evening slowly spreads her shade ; 
That soothing shade, that grateful gloom. 
Can more than day's enlivening bloom, 
Still every fond and vain desire, 
And calmer, purer thoughts inspire ; 
From earth the pensive spirit free, 
And lead the softened heart to thee. 

In every scene thy hands have dressed. 
In every form by thee impressed, 
Upon the mountain's awful head, 
Or where the sheltering woods are spread ; 
In every note that swells the gale. 
Or tuneful stream that cheers the vale. 
The cavern's depth, or echoing grove, 
A voice is heard of praise and love. 

As o'er thy works the seasons roll, 
And soothe with change of bliss the soul, 
O never may their smiling train 
Pass o'er the human sense in vain. 
But oft as on their charms we gaze, 
Attune the wondering soul to praise ; 
And be the joys that most we prize, 
The joys that from thy fa\or rise. 



BABYLON. 387 



BABYLOK 

And now from out the watery floor 

A city rose, and well she wore 

Her beauty, and stupendous walls, 

And towers that touched the stars, and halls 

Pillared with whitest marble, whence 

Palace on lofty palace sprung ; 

Where, amongst silver waterfalls, 

Cedars and spice-trees and green bowers. 

And sweet winds playing Avith all the flowers 

Of Persia and Araby, 

Walked princely shapes : some with an air 

Like warriors, some like ladies fair 

Listening, and, amidst all, the king 

Nebuchadnezzer rioting 

In supreme magnificence. 

This was famous Babylon. 

Barry Cornwell. 

Babylon was the capital of Chaldea or Babylonia. The 
exact site of Babylon is disputed, and it is equally doubtful 
who was its founder ; but Nebuchadnezzar, about six centu- 
ries before Christ, repaired, extended and adorned it, so 
that its magnificence was the boast of this vain-glorious 
monarch. — " Is not this great Babylon, that I have built 
for the house of the kingdom, by the might of my power, 
and for the honor of my majesty ?" 

In scripture this magnificence is extolled in many places 
— The " great Babylon ;" the " glory of kingdoms ;'' the 
" beauty of Chaldea's excellency ;" and " the praise of the 
whole earth," besides many other laudatory expressions, 
are applied to this ancient city. Babylon was a square 
enclosed by walls, and each of its sides measured, according 
to some writers, fifteen miles. The Assyrian monarchs 
dwelt there in all the splendor of oriental luxury. This 
city was embellished by gardens supported by arches, in 
terraces raised one above another on which the soil was 
sufficiently deep to permit the growth of large trees ; and 
luxuriant shrubs and splendid flowers were disposed to 
29 



338 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

produce the most brilliant eflFect. These are usually called 
hanging gardens. 

Cyrus, king of Persia, conquered Babylon, B. C. 538 ; 
and Xerxes, on his return from his Grecian expedition, laid 
it in ruins. Alexander of Macedon proposed to rebuild 
Babylon, but he did not liv'e to effect that intention. Soon 
after the death of Alexander, B. C. 324, 500,000 of the 
inhabitants of Babylon were withdrawn to Seleucia, and 
after that time Babylon became the desolate place described 
by the prophet Isaiah. 

Isaiah's prophecies are dated from 798 to 760, B. C, 
and though this was nearly two centuries before the cap- 
tivity of his countrymen, and more than four previous to 
the ruin of Babylon, the prophet foretells the restoration 
of the Jews, and the desolation of their oppressors. 

The 14th chapter of Isaiah contains a gracious promise 
of God's mercy to his people, and a svibhme and highly 
poetical denunciation of Divine vengeance against the proud 
power which enslaved them. 

For the Lord will have mercy on Jacob, and will yet 
choose Israel, and set them in tlieir own land : and the 
strangers shall be joined with them, and they shall cleave 
to the house of Jacob. And tlie people shall take them, 
and bring them to their place ; and the house of Israel 
shall possess them in the land of the Lord for servants 
and handmaids : and they shall take them captives, whose 
captives they were ; and tliey shall rule over their oppres- 
sors. And it shall come to pass in the day that the Lord 
shall give thee rest from thy sorrow, and from thy fear, and 
from the hard bondage wherein thou wast made to serve. 

That thou shalt take up this proverb against the king 
of Babylon, and say. How hath tlie oppressor ceased ! the 
golden city ceased ! The Lord hath broken the staff of the 
wicked, and the sceptre of the rulers. He who smote the 
people in wi-ath with a continual stroke, he that ruled the 
nations in anger, is persecuted, and none hindereth. The 
■whole earth is at rest, and is quiet ; tliey break forth into 
singing. Yea, the fir trees rejoice at thee, and the cedars 
of Lebanon, saying. Since thou art laid down, no feller is 
come up against us. Hell from beneath is moved for thee 
to meet thee at thy coming : it stiireth up the dead for thee, 
even all the chief ones of the earth ; it hath raised up from 
their thrones all the kings of the nations. All they shall 



BABYLON. 339 

speak and say unto tliee, Art thou also become weak as 
we ? art thou become like unto us ? Thy pomp is brought 
down to the grave, and the noise of thy viols : the worm 
is spread under thee, and the worms cover thee. 

How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the 
morning ! how art thou cut down to the ground, which 
didst weaken the nations ! For thou hast said in thine 
heart, I will ascend into heaven, I will exalt my throne 
above the stars of God ; I will sit also upon the mount of 
the congregation, in the sides of the north : I will ascend 
above the heights of the clouds : I will be like the Most 
High. Yet thou shalt be brought down to hell, to the 
sides of the pit. They that see thee shall narrowly look 
upon thee, and consider thee, saying. Is this the man that 
made the earth to tremble, that did shake kingdoms ; that 
made the world as a wilderness, and destroyed the cities 
thereof ; that opened not the house of his prisoners ? All 
the kings of the nations, even all of them, lie in glory, every 
one in his own house. 

But thou art cast out of thy grave like an abominable 
branch, and as the raiment of those that are slain, thrust 
through with a sword, that go down to the stones of the 
pit ; as a carcass trodden under feet. Thou shalt not be 
joined with them in burial, because thou hast destroyed thy 
land, and slain thy people : the seed of evil doers shall 
never be renowned. Prepare slaughter for his children for 
the iniquity of their fathers ; that they do not rise, nor 
possess the land, nor fill the face of the world with cities. 
For I will rise up against them, saith the Lord of hosts, 
and cut otF from Babylon the name, and remnant, and son, 
and nephew, saith the Lord. I will also make it a posses- 
sion for the bittern, and pools of water ; and I will sweep 
it with the besom of destruction, saith the Lord of hosts. 

The Lord of hosts hath sworn, saying, Surely as I have 
thought, so shall it come to pass ; and as I have purposed 
so shall it stand ; that I will break the Assyrian in my land, 
and upon my mountains tread him under foot : then shall 
his yoke depart from off them, and his burden depart from 
off their shoulders." 

The consumraateness of the destruction which was fore- 
shown by Isaiah, is yet more expressively described in the 
Apocalypse of St. John. 

That great city, Babylon, shall be thrown down, and 



340 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

shall be found no more at all. And the voice of harpers, 
and musicians, and of pipers, and trumpeters, shall be heard 
no more at all in thee ; and no craftsman, of whatsoever 
craft he be, shall be found any more in thee ; and the sound 
of a millstone shall be heard no more at all in thee ; and 
the light of a candle shall shine no more at all in thee ; and 
the voice of the bridegroom and the bride shall be heard no 
more at all in thee. — Eev. xviii. 21 — 23. 

It is proper to remark that St. John, who wrote this 
passage, lived long after the destruction of Babylon, and it 
is supposed he did not intend to represent the ruin of Baby- 
lon herself, but of Rome. Rome, from her magnitude and 
splendor, was sometimes called a second Babylon ; she 
was at the submit of her glory when the apostle wrote the 
prophetic book of the Revelations, and he foresaw that her 
fate nearly resembled that of Chaldean Babylon. 



FAIRIES. 

Belief in Fairies was once a popular superstition all over 
Europe, and it still exists in some countries. The pea- 
santry of Ireland and Devonshire yet regard these imagi- 
nary beings as taking an important part in human affairs ; 
and the children of France, Germany, and England, take 
delight in reading Fairy Tales. 

Fairies are represented in these tales to be either benevo- 
lent or malignant, and to resemble men and women in their 
love and hate. Those who have read Shakspeare's Mid- 
summer's Night Dream, know that Oberon was the king, 
and Titania the queen of the Fairies. The fairies were 
rural spirits in human figure, and so diminutive that they 
could pass through a key-hole. They were also regarded 
as interesting themselves in household matters. Shaks« 
peare describes them thus : 

fairies' vagaries. 

Singing and dancing being all their pleasure, 
They'll please you most nicely, if you'll be at leisure 
To hear their sweet chanting ; it will you delight. 
And cure melancholy at morning and night. 



F A I KIES. 311 

Come follow, follow me, 
You Fairie elves that be : 
And circle round this green, 
Come follow me your queen, 
Hand and hand let's dance around, 
For this place is Fairie ground 

When mortals are at rest, 
And snoring in their nest, 
Unheard or unespyed, 
Through key-hole we do glide : 
Over tables, stools, and shelves. 
We trip it with our fairy elves. 

And if the house be foul, 

Of platter, dish, or bowl. 

Up stairs we nimbly creep. 

And find the sluts asleep ; 

Then we pinch their arms and eyes, 

None escapes, none espies. 

But if the house be swept, 

And from uncleannesse kept. 

We praise the house and maid, 

And surely she is paid : 

For we do use before we go , 

To drop a tester* in her shoe. 

Upon the mushroom's head, 

Our table-cloth we spread, 

A grain o' the finest wheat 

Is manchet that we eat ; 

The pearly drops of dew we drink, 

In acorn-cups filled to the brink. 

The tongues of nightingales 

With unctuous juice of snails, 

Betwixt two nut-shells strewed, 

Is meat that's easily chewed : 

The brains of rennes, the beards of mice. 

Will make a feast of wondrous price. 

• A small piece of money. 

29* 



842 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Over the tender grass 
So lightly we can pass, 
The young and tender stalk 
Ne'er bows whereon we walk ; 
Nor in the morning dew is seen, 
Over-night where we have been. 

The grasshopper, gnat, and fly, 

Serve for our minstrels three. 

And sweetly dance awhile 

Till we the time beguile : 

And when the Moon-calf hides her head, 

The glow-worm lights us unto bed. 

THE fairies' grotto. 

Here, in cool grot and mossy cell, 

We rural fays and fairies dwell ; 

Though rarely seen by mortal eye, 

When the pale moon ascending high, 

Darts through yon limes her quivering beams. 

We frisk it near these crystal streams. 

Her beams reflected from the wave, 
Afford the light our revels crave ; 
This turf, with daisies broidered o'er, 
Exceeds, we think, the marble floor ; 
Nor yet for artful strains we call, 
But listen to the waterfall. 

Would you then taste our tranquil scene, 
Be sure your bosoms are serene ; 
Devoid of hate, devoid of strife. 
Devoid of all that poisons life ; 
And much it 'vails you, in their place. 
To ffraft the love of human race. 

And tread with awe these favored bowers. 
Nor wound the shrubs, nor bruise the flowers } 
So may your path with sweets abound. 
So may your couch with rest be crowned? 
But harm betide the wayward swain 
Who dares our sacred haunts profane ! 

Shenaiane. 



C O N D K R . 343 

WHAT IS HOME ? 

That is not home, where day by day 
I wear the busy hours away ; 
That is not home, where lonely night 
Prepares me for the toils of light ; 
*T is hope, and joy, and memory give 
A home in which the heart can live : 
These walls no lingering hopes endear, 
No fond remembrance chains me here. 
Cheerless I heave the lonely sigh — 
Eliza, canst thou tell me why ? 
'T is where thou art, is home to me, 
And home without thee cannot be. 

Tliei'e are who strangely love to roam, 
And find in wildest haunts their home ; 
And some in halls of lordly sf.ate, 
Who yet are homeless, desolate. 
The sailor's home is on the main, 
The warrior's, on the tented plain. 
The maiden's, in her bower of rest. 
The infant's, on his mother's breast ; 
But where thou art, is home to me, 
And home without thee cannot be. 

There is no home in halls of pride, 
They are too high, and cold, and wide. 
No home is by the wanderer found ; 
'T is not in place ; it hath no bound, 
It is a circling atmosphere. 
Investing all the heart holds dear ; 
A law of strange attractive force, 
That holds the feelings in their course. 

It is a presence undefined, 
O'ershadowing the con?bious mind, 
Where love and duty sweetly blend 
To consecrate the name of friend ; 
Where'er thou art, is home to mp, 
And home without thee cannot be. 

Coiider. 



344 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

INSTRUCTION. 

The heart has tendrils, like the vine, 

Which round another's bosom twine, 

Outspringing from the parent tree 

Of deeply-planted sympathy, 

Whose flowers are hope, its fruits are bliss ', 

Beneficence its harvest is. 

There are some bosoms, dark and drear, 
Which an unwatered desert are : 
Yet there a curious eye may trace 
Some smiling spot, some verdant place, 
Where little flowers, the weeds between. 
Spend their soft fragrance all unseen. 

Despise them not — for wisdom's toil 
Has ne'er disturbed that stubborn soil ; 
Yet care and culture might have brought 
The ore of truth from mines of thought ; 
And fancy's fairest flowers had bloomed 
Where truth and fancy lie entombed. — 

Insult him not — his blackest crime 
May, in his Maker's eye sublime, 
In spite of all thy pride, be less 
Than e'en thy daily waywardness : 
Than many a sin, and many a stain, 
Forgotten, and impressed again. — 

There is, in every human heart, 
Some not completely barren part. 
Where seeds of love and truth might grow, 
' And flowers of generous virtue blow ; 

To plant, to watch, to water there, — 
This be our duty — be our care ! 

And sweet it is the growth to trace 

Of w'orth, of intellect, of grace. 

In bosoms where our labors first 

Bid the young seed of spring-time burst; 

And lead it on, from hour to hour. 

To ripen into perfect flower. 



345 



Flow on, pure knowledge ! ever flow ! 

Change nature's face to man below ; 

A paradise once more disclose — 

Make deserts bloom with Sharon's rose , 

And, through a Saviour's blood, once shed. 

Raise his forlorn and drooping head. 



Bowring. 



DEATH S FINAL CONQUEST. 

These fine moral stanzas were originally intended for a 
solemn funeral song in a play of James Shirley's. Shirley 
flourished, as a dramatic writer, early in the reign of 
Charles I. His death happened Oct. 23, 1666, aet. 72. It 
said to have been a favorite song with King Charles II. 

The glories of our birth and state 

Are shadows, not substantial things ; 
There is no armor against fate : 

Death lays his icy hands on kings : 
Sceptre and crown 

Must tumble down, ^ 

And in the dust be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field. 
And plant fresh laui-els where they kill ; 
But their strong nerves at last must yield ; 
They tame but one another still. 
Early or late 
They stoop to fate. 
And must give up their murmuring breath, 
When they, pale captives, creep to death. 

The garlands Avither on your brow ; 

Then boast no more your mighty deeds : 
Upon death's purple altar now 

See where the victor victim bleeds. 
All heads must come 
To the cold tomb : 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom, in the dust. 



346 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

THE GENIUS OF DEAtH. 

What is death ? 'Tis to be free ! 

No more to love, or hope, or fear ; 
To join the great equality : 

All, all alike are humbled there ! 
The mighty grave 
Wraps lord and slave ; 
Nor pride nor poverty dares come 
Within that refuge-house — the tomb ! 

Spirit vpith the drooping wing, 
And the ever- weeping eye. 
Thou of all earth's kings art King ! 
Empires at thy footstool lie ! 
Beneath thee strewed, 
Their multitude 
Sink like waves upon the shore ; 
Storm shall never rouse them more ! 

What's the grandeur of the earth 

To the grandeur round thy throne ? 
Riches, glory, beauty, birth. 
To thy kingdom all have gone. 
Before thee stand 
The wondrous band. 
Bards, heroes, sages, side by side. 
Who darken'd nations when they died ! 

Eai'th has hosts, but thou canst show 

Many a million for her one : 
Through thy gates the moital flow 
Has for countless years rolled on : 
Back from the tomb 
No step has come : 
There fixed till the last thunder's sound 
Shall bid thy pris'ners be unbound ! 



Croly. 



TO A FRIEND ON NEW YEAR S DAY. 

Sudden to cease, or gently to decline. 

Oh, power of Mercy ! may the lot be mine : 



A RIDDLE. 84? 

Let me not linger on the verge of fate, 

Nor weary duty to its utmost date ; 

Losing, in pain's impatient gloom confined, 

Freedom of thought and dignity of mind ; 

Till pity views, untouched, the parting breath, 

And cold indifference adds a pang to death. 

Yet if to suflfer long my doom is cast, 

Let me preserve this temper to the last. 

Oh let me still from self my feelings bear, 

And sympathize with sorrow's starting tear: 

Nor sadden at the smile which joy bestows. 

Though far from me her beam ethereal glows. 

Let me remember in the gloom of age. 

To smile at follies happier youth engage ; 

See them fallacious, but indulgent spare 

The fairy dreams experience cannot share ; 

Nor view the rising morn witli jaundiced eye. 

Because for me no more the sparkling moments fly. 

The amiable and sensible writer of the preceding verses, 
was Mrs, John Hunter, the wife of the celebrated ana- 
tomist. 



A RIDDLE. 



From rosy lips we issue forth, 

From east to west, from north to south. 

Unseen, unfelt, by night, by day. 

Abroad we take our airy way. 

We fasten love, we kindle strife 

The bitter and the sweet of life. 

Piercing and sharp, we wound like steel, 

Now smooth as oil, those wounds we heal. 

Not strings of pearl are valued more. 

Nor gems enchased in golden ore : 

Yet thousands of us eveiy day 

Worthless and vile are thrown away. 

Ye wise ! secure with gates of brass 

The double doors through which we pass, — 

For once escaped, back to our cell 

Nor art of man can us compel. 

Barhauld. 



348 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Riddles are of high antiquity, and were the employment 
of grave men formerly. The first riddle that we have on 
record was proposed by Samson at a wedding feast to the 
young men of the Philistines, who were invited upon the occa- 
sion. The feast lasted seven days ; and if they found it out 
within seven days, Samson was to give them thirty suits 
of clothes and thirty sheets ; and if they could not guess it, 
they were to forfeit the same to him. The riddle was ; 
' Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong 
came forth sweetness.' He had killed a lion, and left its 
carcass; on returning soon after, he found a swarm of bees 
had made use of the skeleton as a hive, and it was full of 
honey-comb. Struck with the oddness of the circumstance, 
he made a riddle of it. 



LUCY A IK IN. 

Miss Aikin is a niece of the late Mrs. Barbauld. She is 
known as the historian of the British queen, Elizabeth, and 
her successor, James I. ; but she has not confined her 
attention to such high themes, she has composed books for 
the young, and her little work, Poetry for Children, is 
among the best initiatory collections. The three subse- 
quent pieces are extracted from it. 



THE BEGGAR MAN. 

Around the fire one wintry night 
The farmer's rosy children sat ; 

The faggot lent its blazing light, 

And jokes went round and careless chat. 

When hark ! a gentle hand they hear 
Low tapping at the bolted door. 

And thus, to gain their willing ear, 
A feeble voice was heard to implore. 



A I K I N , 349 

" Cold blows the blast across the moor, 
The sleet drives hissing in the wind ; 
Yon toilsome mountain lies before, 
A dreary treeless waste behind. 

My eyes are weak, and dim with age, 

No road, no path, can I descry. 
And these poor rags ill stand the rage 

Of such a keen inclement sky. 

So faint I am — these tottering feet 
No more my palsied frame can bear ; 

My freezing heart forgets to beat, 

And drifting snows my tomb prepara 

Open your hospitable door. 

And shield me from the biting blast: 

Cold, cold it blows across the moor. 
The weary moor that I have passed I" 

With hasty step the farmer ran, 

And close beside the fire they place 

The poor half frozen wand 'ring man, 
With shaking limbs and blue-pale face. 

The little children flocking came 

And chafed his frozen hands in theirs. 

And busily the good old dame 
A comfortable mess prepares. 

Their kindness cheered his drooping soul. 
And slowly down his wrinkled cheek 

The big round tears were seen to roll, 
And told the thanks he could not speak. 

The children too began to sigh, 

And all their merry chat was o'er ; 
And yet they felt, they knew not why, 

More glad than they had done before. 



350 rOETKY FOR SCHOOLS, 



Where sacred Ganges pours along the plain, 
And Indus rolls to swell the eastern main, 
What awful scenes the curious mind delight, 
What wonders burst upon the dazzled sight ! 
There giant palms lift high their tufted heads. 
The plantain wide his graceful foliage spreads ; 
Wild in the woods the active monkey springs, 
The chattering parrot claps his painted wings ; 
'Mid tall bamboos lies hid the deadly snake, 
The tiger crouches in the tangled brake ; 
The spotted axis bounds in fear away, 
The leopard darts on his defenceless prey ; 
'Mid reedy pools and ancient forests rude. 
Cool, peaceful haunts of awful solitude ! 
The huge rhinoceros rends the crashing boughs. 
And stately elephants untroubled browse. 

Two tyrant seasons rule the wide domain, 
Scorch with dry heat, or drench with floods of rain. 
Now feverish herds rush madding o'er the plains, 
And cool in shady streams their throbbing veins; 
The birds drop lifeless from the silent spray, 
And nature faints beneath the fiery day ; 
Then bursts the deluge on the sinking shore, 
And teeming Plenty empties all her store. 

THE SWALLOW. 

Swallow ! that on rapid wing 

Sweep'st along in sportive ring, 

Now here, now there, now low, now high. 

Chasing keen the painted fly, — 

Could I skim away with thee, 

Over land and over sea. 

What streams would flow, what cities rise, 

What landscapes dance before mine eyes ! 

First from England's southern shore 
'Cross the channel we would soar ; 
And our vent'rous course advance 
To the lively plains of France ; 
Sport among the feather'd choir 
On the verdant banks of Loire, 



traveller's return. 351 

Skim Garonne's majestic tide, 

Where Bordeaux adorns his side ; 

Cross the towering Pyrenees, 

'Mid orange groves and myrtle trees ; 

Entering then the wild domain 

Where wolves prowl round the flocks of Spain, 

Where silk-worms spin, and olives grow. 

And mules plod surely on and slow. 

Steering then for many a day 
Far to south our course away, 
From Gibraltar's rocky steep, 
Dashing o'er the foaming deep. 
On sultry Afric's fruitful shore 
We'd rest at length, our journey o'er, 
Till vernal gales should gently play 
To waft us on our homeward way. 



THE TRAVELLER S RETURN. 

Sweet to the morning traveller 

The sky-lark's earliest song, 
Whose twinkling wings are seen at fits 

The dewy lights among. 

And cheering to the traveller 
The gales that round him play. 

When faint and wearily he drags 
Along his noontide way. 

And when beneath the unclouded sun 

Full wearily toils he. 
The flowing water makes to him 

Most pleasant melody. 

And when the evening light decays, 

And all is calm around, 
There is sweet music to his ear 

In the distant sheep-bell's sound. 

And sweet the neighboring church's bell 
That marks his journey's bourne : 

But sweeter is the voice of love 
That welcomes his return ! 

Anthology. 



AMERICAN POETRY. 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 

Thk five articles next in course, are from tlie pen of Mr. 
Br^'ant. The individual whose name is attached to Au- 
tumn Woods, to the Song of the Stars, and to Rizpah, 
enjoys a reputation never attached to mediocrity ; and it 
becomes his countrymen, and his contemporaries, to fur- 
nish a pledge of the sure honors which late posterity will 
pay to his genius, by the manner in which they cherish 
and requite that genius. 

AUTUMJf WOODS. 

Ere, in the northern gale, 
The summer tresses of the trees are gone. 
The woods of Autumn all around our vale, 

Have put their glory on. 

The mountains that infold 
In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round, 
Seem groups of giant kings in purple and in gold, 

That guard the enchanted ground. 

I roam the woods that crown 
The upland, where the mingled splendors glow, 
Where the gay company of trees look down 

On the green fields below. 

My steps are not alone 
In these bright walks; the sweet southwest, at play, 
Plies, rustling where the painted leaves are strown 

Along the winding way. 

And far in heaven, the while, 
The sun that sends that gale to wander here, 
Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile, — 

The sweetest of the year. 
352 



fi R T A N T . 353 

Where now the solemn shade, 
Verdure and gloom, where many branches meet ; 
So grateful, when the noon of summer made 

The valleys sick with heat ? 

Let in through all the trees 
Come the strange rays ; the forest depths are bright ; 
Their sunny-colored foliage, in the breeze, 

Twinkles, like beams of light. 

The rivulet, late unseen, 
Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, 
Shines with the image of its golden screen, 

And glimmerings of the sun. 

Beneath yon crimson tree, 
Lover to listening maid might breathe his fiame. 
Nor mark within its roseate canop)% 

Her blush of maiden shame. 

Oh, Autumn ! why so soon 
Depart the hues that make thy forests glad ; 
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon. 

And leave thee wild and sad ! 

Ah ! 't were a lot too blest 
For ever in thy colored shades to stray ; 
Amidst the kisses of the soft southwest 

To rove and dream for aye ; 

And leave the vain low strife 
That makes men mad — the tug for wealth and powerr, 
The passions and the cares that wither life. 

And waste its little hour. 

The variable climate of the eastern states, affords grounds 
of complaint to sensitive people, but the beautiful Autumn 
of that region is congenial to every constitution and taste. 
The aspect of nature at that season in New England, 
inspires the most tranquil and happy emotions ; and the 
peace of its scenes disposes every heart to sympathize with 
the sentiments which the preceding verses express. The 
appearance of the American woods in autumn is peculiar 
30* 



354 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

to this country. Mr. Tudor, in his Letters on the Eastern 
States, gives this description of it : 

" The rich and mellow tints of the forest at that season 
of the year, have often furnished subjects for the painter 
and the poet in Europe ; but the woods of Europe never 
exhibit the appearance of ours. Besides all the shades of 
brown and green, which the forests of Europe display in 
the decay of their foliage, the American woods in the same 
stage of vegetation put on the most glaring and brilliant 
colors — bright yellow, scarlet, orange, and purple — not 
merely on single leaves, but masses of whole trees have 
their folinge thus tinged. 

I do not know that it has ever been accounted for ; but 
it may perhaps be owing to the frosts coming earlier here 
than in Europe, and falling on the leaves while the sap is 
yet copious, before they have begun to dry and fall oflF. 
However this may be, the coloring is wonderful ; — the 
walnut is turned to the brighest yellow, the maple to scarlet> 
&c. Our trees put on this dress about the first of Octo- 
ber." At this time of the year the effect of the atmos- 
phere upon our scenery and upon the sensations of the 
beholder, induces sentiments of sober cheerfulness, and a 
pure enjoyment of this breathing life and this beautiful 
"world, such as we never feel at other seasons. 

Mr. Tudor observes that " the reader who has any relic 
of veneration for Pomona and the Hymadryads," (I hope 
my 3'^oung readers are acquainted with Pomona and the 
Hamadryads,) will take an interest in the history of certain 
celebrated trees of New-England, and he proceeds to enu- 
merate the more remarkable of these. 

In Salem, (Mass.) there was in 1825, a pear tree still 
producing fruit, that was planted by Governor Endicott in 
his garden in 1630, and which is now owned by his descen- 
dants. At Sagadahoc, in Maine, where the French had a 
footing in 1689, there is an apple tree with some remains 
of life, amidst the ruins of their dwellings. The trunk is 
nearly the size of a hogshe;id, and entirely hollow. It was 
almost a century after before any apple trees were planted 
in the neighboring country. In Hartford, (Connecticut,) 
the oak stood (1825) in which the Connecticut charter was 
secreted, during the disastrous administration of Andros, 
when all the New-England charters were taken away. 
Governor Andros went to Hartford to obtain the charter 



BRYANT. 355 

of Connecticut ; when the Council were assembled with 
Andros in the evening, while the destined victim was Ivino- 
on the table, the lights were suddenly extinguished, Captain 
Wadsworth seized the charter and hid it in this tree, which 
even then, in 1692, was hollow with age. This tree forms 
an appropriate counterpart to the "royal oak" of Eno-land. 
The most celebrated of all our trees, however, was the 
Liberty tree in Boston, which fell a sacrifice to part}'' ven- 
geance, and was cut down when the British troops got 
possession of the town. It was an elm of vast size, of which 
only the stump remains. Many transactions leading to the 
revolution took place beneath it. Trees in various places 
in this country and in Europe, were named after it : in 
France, at one time, every municipality had one ; but in 
that country they never flourished, and finally perished, 
root and branch, under Napoleon. 

SONG OF THE STARS. 

When the radiant mora of creation broke, 

And the world in the smile of God awoke, 

And the empty realms of darkness and death 

Were moved through their depths by His mighty breath; 

And orbs of beauty, and spheres of flame, 

From the void abj'ss by myriads came. 

In the joy of youth as they darted away, 

Tlirough the widening vrastes of space to play, 

Their silver voices in chorus rung. 

And this was the song that the bright ones sung : 

Away, away, through the wide, wide sky, 
The fair blue fields that before us lie : 
Each sun with the worlds that round us roll, 
Each planet poised on her turning pole. 
With her isles of green, and her clouds of white, 
And her waters tliat lie like fluid light. 

For the Source of Glory uncovers his face, 
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space ; 
And we drink, as we go, the luminous tides 
In our ruddy air and our blooming sides ; 
Lo ! yonder the living splendors play ; 
Away, on your joyous path away ! 



SoS POETRY FOR SCffOOLS, 

Look, look, through our glittering ranks afarjr 
111 the infinite azure, star after star, 
How they brighten and bloon^ as they swiftly pass f 
How the verdure runs o'er each rolHng mass ; 
And the path of the gentle winds are seen, 
When the small waves dance, and the young woods leant. 

And see, where the brigliter day-beams pour, 
How the rainbows hang in the sunii}' shower ! 
And the morn and the eve, with their pomp of hues. 
Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews I 
And, 'twixt them both, o'er the teeminsr g-roundy 
With her shadowy cone, the night goes round. 

Away, away ! — in our blossoming bowers, 
In the soft air wrapping these spliei-es of ours. 
In the seas and fountains that shine with morn,- 
See, love is brooding, and life is born. 
And breathing myriads are breaking from night,. 
To rejoice, like us, in motion and light. 

Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres f- 
To weave the dance that measures the years.- 
Glide on in the glory and gladness sent 
'i'o the farthest wall of the firmament. 
The boundless, visible smile of Him, 
To the veil of whose brow our lamp* are dim. 



And he delivered them into the hands of the Oibeonites, and 
theij hanged them in the hill before the Lord ; and they fell 
nil seven together, and were put to death in the days of the 
harvest, in the first days, in the beginning of barley-harvest. 

And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth and 
spread it for her upon the rock, f ran the beginning of harvest 
until the water dropjxd upon them out of heaven, and suffered 
neither the birds of the air to rest tipon them by day, nor the 
beasts of the field by night. — II Samuel, xxi. 9, 10. 

Hear what the desolate Rizpah said. 
As on Gibeah's rocks she watched the dead. 
The sons of Michal before her lay, 
And her own fair children, dearer than they ; 



B K Y A N T , 357 

By a death of shame they all had died, 

And were stretched on the bare rock, side by side, 

And Rizpah, once the loveliest of all 

That bloomed and smiled in the court of Saul, 

All wasted with watching and famine now, 

And scorched by the sun her haggard brow. 

Sat, mournfully guarding their corpses there. 

And murmured a strange and solemn air; 

The low, heart-broken, and wailing strain 

Of a mother that mourns her children slain. 

I have made the crags my home, and spread 
On their desert backs my sackcloth bed ; 
I have eaten the bitter herb of the rocks, 
And drank the midnight dew in my locks; 
I have wept till I could not weep, and the pain 
Of my burning eyeballs went to my brain. 
Seven blackened corpses before me lie. 
In the blaze of the sun and the winds of the sky. 
I have watched them through the burning day, 
And driven the vulture and i-aven away; 
And the cormorant wheeled in circles rotmd. 
Yet feared to alight on the guarded ground. 
And, when the shadows of twilight came, 
I have seen the hyena's eyes of flame, 
And heard at my side his stealthy tread. 
But aye at my shout the savage fled ! 
And I threw the lighted brand, to fright 
The jackal and wolf that yelled in the night. 

Ye were foully murdered, my hapless sons. 
By the hands of wicked and cruel ones ; 
Yet fell in your fresh and blooming prime, 
All innocent, for your father's crime. 
He sinned ^ — but he paid the price of his guilt, 
When his blood by a nameless hand was spilt; 
When he strove with the heathen host in vain, 
And fell with the flower of his people slain. 
And the sceptre his childi'en's hands should sway, 
From his injured lineage passed away. 

But I hoped that the cottage roof would be 
A safe retreat for my sons and me ; 



3'58 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

And that while they ripened to manhood fast. 

They should wean my thoughts from woes of the past : 

And my bosom swelled with a mother's pride, 

As they stood in their beauty and strength by ray side. 

Tall like their sire, with the princely graee 

Of his stately foi-m, and tlie bloom of his face. 

Oh, what an hour for a mother's heart, 
Wlien the pitiless ruffians tore us ajmrt ! 
When I clasped their knees and wept and prayed. 
And struggled and shrieked to heaven for aid, 
And clung to my sons with de&perate strength. 
Till the murderers loosed my bold at length, 
And bore me breathless and faint aside, 
In their iron arms, while my children died. 
Tliey died — and the mother that gave them birtb 
Is forbid to cover their bones Avith earth. 

The barley harvest was nodding white, 
When my children died on the rocky height. 
And the reapers were singing on hill and plain. 
When I came to my task of sorrow and pain. 
But now the season of rain is nig-h, 
The sun is dim in the thickening sky. 
And the clouds in sullen darkness rest. 
Wlien he hides his light at the doors of the west,. 
I licar the howl of the wind that brings 
'j'he long drear storm on its heavy wings ; 
But the how^hng wind, and the driving rain 
Will beat on my houseless head in vain ; 
I shall stay, from my murdered sons to scare' 
The beasts of the desert, and fowls of the air. 

When the Israelites took possession of the land of 
Canaan, they were commanded to extirpate the occupants 
of the country. This was but imperfectly fulfilled : in Is- 
rael and its borders there always remained some of the deeen- 
dants of the primitive inhabitants. About a thousand years be- 
fore Christ, Saul, king of Israel, slew some of the Gibeonites, 
a remnant of the Amorites. — A few )-ears after, the Gribeon- 
ites, like other savages, demanded of David, as a satisfac- 
tion for the injury they had sustained from his predecessor, 
life for life. They required that seven men of the posterity 



BRYANT. 3o9 

of Saul should be delivered to them to be hanged, and 
David consented to this cruel proposition. The king took 
two sons of Saul and Rizpah, and five sons of Michal, Saul's 
daughter, and delivered them to the Gibeonites. The fear- 
ful vengeance executed upon these men, and the constant 
heart-rending fondness of Rizpah, are already known from 
the words of the Scripture and the pathetic verses of the 
poet. 

AGRICULTURAL ODE. 

Far back in the ages. 

The plough with wreaths was crowned, 
The hands of kings and sages 

Entwined the chaplet round ; 
Till men of spoil 
Disdained the toil 

By which the world was nourished. 
And blood and pillage were the soil 

In which their laurels flourished. 
— Now the world her fault repairs — 

The guilt that stains her story. 
And weeps her crimes amid the cares 

That formed her earliest glory. 

The proud throne shall crumble. 

The diadem shall wane. 
The tribes of earth shall humble 

The pride of those who reign ; 
And war shall lay 
His pomp away ; — 

The fame that heroes cherish. 
The glory earned in deadly fray 

Shall fade decay and perish. 
— Honor waits o'er all the earth, 

Through endless generations. 
The art that calls the harvest forth, 

And feeds the expectant nations. 

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, 
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown 
and sere. 



360 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the withered leaves 

lie dead ; 
Tliey rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. 
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrub the 

And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the 
gloomy day. 

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately 

sprung and stood 
In brighter lig-ht and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? 
Alas ! they all are in their graves: the gentle race of 

flowers 
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of 

ours. 
The rain is falling where they lie ; but the cold November 

rain 
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. 

The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, 
And the wild -rose and the orchis died amid the summer 

glow ; 
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, 
And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty 

stood. 
Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the 

plague on men, 
And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, 

glade, and glen. 

And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such 

days will come, 
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter 

home. 
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the 

trees are still, 
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill. 
The south-wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance 

late he bore. 
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no 

more. 

And then I think of one, who in her youthful beauty died. 
The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my 
side : 



H ALLE CK . 361 

la the cold, moist earth we laid her when the forest cast 

the leaf, 
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief: 
Yet not unmeet it was, that one, like that young friend of 

ours, 
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. 



FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. 

An American poet of rare merit. He has not written 
much ; but what he has written is nearly faultless. He 
exhibits warm feeling, rich, yet playful fancy, a copious 
flow of words, and very melodious versification. 

Marco Bozzaris was a leader of the Greeks in the late 
revolutionary war : he was killed in the assault of a Turkish 
camp. Wounded by a shot in the side, he concealed the 
accident, and continued to fight, until a ball struck him in 
the face ; he fell, and instantly expired. Their leader's 
death becoming known, the Souliotes whom Bozzaris com- 
manded, retreated, carrying oflf with them their general's 
body. 

MARCO BOZZARIS. 

At midnight, in his guarded tent. 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power ; 
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams his song of triumph heard ; 
There wore his monarch's signet-ring, — 
Then pressed that monarch's throne, — a king ; 
As wild his thoughts and gay of wing, 

As Eden's garden-bird. 

An hour passed on ; — the Turk awoke ; 

That bright dream was his last ; 
He woke to hear his sentry's shriek, 
" To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek !" 
31 



362 POETRY F O II SCHOOLS, 

He woke to die 'midst flame and smoke. 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke. 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain cloud; 
And heard with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band ! — 
** Strike — till the last armed foe expires ; 
Strike — for your altars and your fires. 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires, 

God, and your native land !" 

They fought like brave men long and well. 

They piled the ground with Moslem slain. 
They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile when rung the proud hurrah. 

And the red field was won : 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 



THE FALLS OF THE PASSAIC. 

In a wild, tranquil vale, fringed with forests of green. 
Where nature had fashioned a soft, sylvan scene, 
The retreat of the ringdove, the haunt of the deer, 
Passaic in silence rolled gentle and clear. 

No grandeur of prospect astonished tlie sight, 
No abruptness sublime mingled awe with delight; 
Here the wild flow'ret blossomed, the elm proudly waved, 
And pure was the current the green bank that laved. 

But the spirit that ruled o'er the thick-tangled wood. 
And deep in its gloom fixed his murky abode, 
Who loved the wild scene that the whirlwinds deform. 
And gloried in thunder, and lightning, and storm ; 

All flushed from the tumult of battle he came, 
Where the red men encountered the children of flame. 
While the noise of the war-whoop still rang in his ears, 
And the fresh bleeding scalp as a tiophy lie bears: 



F RI S B I E . 363 

With a glance of disgust he tlie landscape surveyed, 
"With its fragrant wild flowers, its wide waving shade : — 
Where Passaic meanders throutrli marsfins of o-reen, 
bo transparent its waters, its surface serene. 

He rived the green hills, the wild woods he laid low; 
He taught the pure streams in rough channels to flow ; 
He rent the rude rock, the steep precipice gave. 
And hurled down the chasm the thundering wave. 

Countless moons have since rolled in the long lapse of 

time, — 
Cultivation has softened those features sublime ; 
The axe of the white man has lightened the shade, 
And dispelled the deep gloom of the thicketed glade. 

But tl>e stranger still gazes, with wondering ej^e, 

On the rocks rudely torn, and groves mounted on high; 

Still loves on the cliff''s dizzy borders to roam, 

Where the torrent leaps headlong embosomed in foam. 

Washington Irving. 



FRISBIE. 



The author of the two hymns inserted belo.w, was a pro- 
fessor of Moral Philosophy in Harvard University, Cam- 
bridge, Massachusetts. Professor Frisbie died in 1821. 
He was almost entirely deprived of sight, but it happened 
to him as to Homer, Milton, and many other highly gifted 
men, that Providence made him amends for the imperfec- 
tion of external vision by a more profound insight of holy 
and heavenly things. Human happiness and virtue were 
the subjects of Professor Frisbie's habitual and anxious 
inquiries ; " but all his serious thoughts had rest in 
Heaven " — Piety was the constant frame of his mind, and 
his conversation and example aff'orded uniform illustrations 
of the Christian temper and faith. His death was a loss 
to the young particularly, and his worth as a man, a 
scholar, and a Christian, was duly appreciated and felt by 



364 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

those of his college who looked up to him for the exposi- 
tion of duty and of truth. Perhaps the good seed which 
he scattered in many minds, is now expanded to fruit, and 
it may be that the devotional pieces here annexed will yet 
serve to awaken gratitude to God, and to strengthen reso- 
lutions of virtue. 

MORNING HYMN. 

While nature welcomes in the day. 
My heart its earliest vows would pay 
To Him whose care has kindly kept 
My life from danger while I slept. 

His genial rays the sun renews ; 
How bright the scene with glittering dews ? 
The blushing flowers more beauteous bloom. 
And breathe more sweet their rich perfume. 

So may the sun of righteousness, 
With kindliest beams my bosom bless , 
Warm into life each heavenly seed. 
To bud and bear some generous deed. 

So may the dews of grace distil. 
And gently soften all my will ; 
So may my morning sacrifice 
To heaven like grateful incense i"ise. 

Wilt tbou this day my footsteps guide. 
And kindly all I need provide : 
With strength divine my bosom arm, 
Against terapation's powerful charm ? 

Where'er I am, oh, may I feel 
That God is all around me still ; 
That all I say, or do, or mean, 
By His all-searching eye is seen. 

Oh may each day my heart improve I 
Increase my faith, my hope, my love ; 
And thus its shades around me close 
More wise and holy than I rose. 



P R I S B I E . 365 



EVENING HYMN. 



My soul, a hymn of evening praise 
To Ood, thy kind preserver, raise, 
Whose hand this day hath guarded, fed, 
And thousand blessings round thee shed. 

Forgive my sins this day, Lord, 
In thought or feeHng, deed or word; 
And if in aught thy law I've kept. 
My feeble efforts, Lord, accept. 

While nature round is hushed to rest, 
Let no vain thought disturb my breast; 
Shed o'er my soul religion's power 
Serenely solemn as the hour. 

Oh, bid thy angels o'er me keep 
Their walch, to shield me while I sleep 1 
Till the fresh morn shall round me breaks 
Then with new vigor may I wake ! 

Yet think, my soul, another day 
Of thy short course has rolled away : 
Ah, think how soon in deepening shade 
The day of life itself shall fade ! 

How soon death's sleep my eyes must close. 
Lock every sense in dread repose, 
And lay me mid the awful gloom 
And solemn silence of the tomb ! 

This very night, Lord, should it be, 
Oh may my soul repose on thee, 
Till the glad morn in heaven shall rise, 
Then wake to triumph in the skies ! 



366 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

Dr. Holmes, now a professor attached to the Medical 
School of Harvard College, was born in Cambridge, Massa- 
chusetts, in 1809, and is distinguished not only for his 
scientific attainments, but for a rich vein of humor, and for 
the grace and artistic skill of his poetical compositions. 

CAMBRIDGE CHURCHYARD, 

Our ancient church ! its lowly tower. 

Beneath the loftier spire, 
Is shadowed when the sunset hour. 

Clothes the tall shaft in tire. 
It sinks beneath the distant eye. 

Long ere the glittering vane. 
High wheeling in the western sky. 

Has faded o'er the plain. 

Like sentinel and nun, they keep 

Their vigil on the green ; 
One seems to guard, and one to weep. 

The dead that lie between. 
And both roll out so full and near, 

Their music's mingling waves. 
They shake the grass, whose pennoned spear. 

Leans on the narrow giaves. 

The stranger parts the flaunting weeds. 

Whose seeds the winds have strown 
So thick beneath the line he reads. 

They shade the sculptured stone 
The child unveils his clustered brow, 

And ponders for a while 
The graven willow's pendent bough. 

Or judest cherub's smile. 

But what to them the dirge, the knell ? 

These were the mourner's share ; — 
Tlie sullen clang, whose heavy swell 

Throbbed through the beating air ; — 



HOLMES. 36? 

The rattling cord, — the rolling stone, — 

The shelving sand that slid, 
And far beneath, with hollow tone, 

Rung on the coffin lid. 

The slumberer's mound grows fresh and green, 

Then slowly disappears ; 
The mosses creep, the gray stones lean, 

Earth hides his date and years ; 
But long before the once-loved name, 

Is sunk or worn away. 
No lip the silent dust may claim, 

That pressed the breathing clay. 

Go where the ancient pathway guides, 

See where the sires laid down 
Their smiling babes, their cherished brides, 

The patriarchs of the town. 
Hast thou a sigh for buried love ? 

A sigh for transient power ? 
All that a century left above ? 

Go, read it in an hour. 

The Indian's shaft, the Briton's ball, 

The sabre's thirsting edge. 
The hot shell, shattering in its fall. 

The bayonet's rending wedge, — 
Here scattered death ; yet seek the spot, 

No trace thine eye can see. 
No altar ; and they need it not. 

Who leave their children free. 

Look where the turbid rain-drops stand, 

In many a chiseled square, 
The knightly crest, the shield, the brand. 

Of honored names were there ; — 
Alas ! for every tear is dried, 

Those blazoned tablets knew, 
Save where the icy marble's side. 

Drips with the evening dew. 

Or gaze upon yon pillar'd stone, 

The empty urn of pi'ide ; 
There stands the goblet and the sun, — 

What need of more beside ? 



368 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS* 

Where lives the memory of the dead, 
Who made their tomb a toy ? 

Whose ashes press that nameless bed ? 
Go, ask the village boy ? 

Lean o'er the slender western wall, 

Ye ever-roaming girls ; 
The breath that bids the blossom fall, 

May lift your floating curls, 
To sweep the simple lines that tell, 

An exile's date and doom ; — 
And sigh, for where his daughters dwell, 

They wreathe the stranger's tomb. 

And one amid these shades was born, 
^ Beneath this turf who lies. 

Once beaming as the summer's morn, 

That closed her gentle eyes ; 
If gentle angels love as we. 

Who stood thy grave beside. 
Three seraph welcomes waited thee, 

The daughter, sister, bride ! 

I wandered to thy buried mound. 

When earth was hid below 
The level of the glaring ground. 

Choked to its gates with snow ; 
And when with summer's flowery waves. 

The lake of verdure rolled, 
As if a Sultan's white-robed slaves, 

Had scattered pearls and gold. 

Nay, the soft pinions of the air 

That lift this trembling tone. 
Its breath of love may almost bear. 

To kiss thy funeral stone ; 
And, now thy smiles have past away. 

For all the joy they gave, 
May sweetest dews and warmest ray 

Lie on thy early grave ! 

When damps beneath and storms above. 
Have bowed these fragile towers. 

Still o'er the graves yon locust grove, 
Shall swing its orient flowers ; — 



HOLMES. 369 

And I will ask no mouldering bust, 

If e'er this humble line. 
Which breathed a sigh o'er others' dust, 

Might call a tear on mine. 

The church-yard in Cambridge lies between a small Epis- 
copal church of very elegant proportions, and a Unitari- 
an Church adorned with a lofty spire. 

The Indian's shaft, &c. — There is no record of actual 
hostilites having occurred in Cambridge, but at Lancaster, 
within thirty-five miles, the Indians made incursions, and en- 
gagements between American and British troops took place 
in Lexington and Charlestown. It is probable that men 
slain in these encounters were interred in this cemetery. 

The knightly crest, the shield, the brand. — English fami- 
lies frequently possess what is called a coat of arms. This 
is a sort of picture or device, which is sometimes paint- 
ed out, sometimes engraved upon silver plate, and some- 
times upon tomb-stones. The escutcheon, or coat of 
arms, represents the character, or deeds, of some ancient 
member of the family. When engraved, or exhibited, the 
escutcheon is emblazoned. The deeds usually celebrated 
by a coat of arms are frequently, but not invariably, war- 
like. The " crest, shield, and brand,'" or sword, indicated 
that decendants from a high European family were buried 
beneath the chiseled stone. 

The sculptured urn of pride. — Several members of an 
ancient and wealthy family, now extinct, by the name of Vas- 
sal, have a monument among the " patriarchs of the town." 

The Goblet and the Sun, are the armorial bearings of the 
Vassals, and are cut in the memorial slab that covers their 
remains. It is presumed that the Latin words vas and sol, 
signifying vase, or cup, and the sun, suggested these ob- 
jects as suitable to the family name. 



THE DORCHESTER GIANT. 

There was a giant in time of old, 

A mighty one was he ; 
He had a wife, but she was a scold. 
So he kept her shut in his mammoth fold ; 

And he had children three. 



370 POETRY FOU SCHOOLS. 

It happened to be an election dnj. 

And the giants were choosing a king ; 
The people were not democrats then ; 
They did not talk of the rights of men. 

And all that sort of thing. 

Then the giant took his children three 

And fastened them in the pen ; 
The children roared : quoth the giant, " Be still I" 
And Dorchester Heights and Milton Hill 

Rolled back the sound again. 

Then he brought them a pudding stuffed with plums. 
As big as the State- House dome ; 

Quoth he, "There's something for you to eat; 

So stop your mouths with your 'lection treat, 
And wait till your dad comes home." 

So the giant pulled him a chestnut stout, 

And whittled the boughs away ; 
The boys and their mother set up a shout ; 
Said he, " You're in, and you can't get out 

Bellow as loud as you may." 

Off he went, and he growled a tune 
As he strode the fields alonw ; 
Tis said a buffalo fainted away, 
And fell as cold as a lump of clay, 
When he heard the giant's song. 

But whether the story's true or not. 

It is not for me to show ; 
There is many a thing that's twice as queer 
In somebod3''s lectures that we hear. 

And those are true, you know. 

What are those loved ones doing now. 

The wife and children sad ? 
O ! they are in a terrible rout, 
Screaming, and throwing their pudding about. 

Acting as they were mad. 



PIEBPONT. 371 

They flung it over to Roxbury hills, 

They flung it ovei- the plain, 
And all over Milton and Dorchester too 
Great lumps of pudding the giants threw. 

They tumbled as thick as rain. 

Giant and mammoth have passed away. 

For ages have floated by ; 
The suet is hard as a marrow-bone, 
And every plum is turned to stone, 

But there the puddings lie. 

And if, some pleasant afternoon. 

You'll ask me out to ride, 
The whole of the story I will tell, 
And you may see where the puddings fell. 

And pay for the punch beside. 

The neighborhood of Boston, embracing the towns of 
Roxbury and Dorchester, exhibits much of the stone called 
" conglomerate, " and sometimes " pudding stone. " It 
appears to consist of small rounded stones, embedded in 
another mineral substance, like plums distribtited in a pud- 
ding. How this composition was effected many centuries 
ago, is conjectured, or scientifically accounted for, by geo- 
logists. Dr. Holmes, after a fashion of more antique poets 
has invented a legend, or fable, to describe what genuine 
history contains no record of. The Dorchester Giant, in 
nothino- offensive, is a specimen of that humor which never 
wounds, and which amuses innocently. 



JOHN PIERPONT. 

Mr. Pierpont, a living poet, was born in the state of 
Connecticut in the year 1785. Mr. Pierpont has declared 
that his poetry is designed to express his " love of right, 
of freedom, and of man." He has been a distinguished 
advocate of Peace, and of what is called " The Temperance 
Cause." He remonstrates against the practice of war, and 



372 I' O E i R V F O U SCHOOLS. 

represents the use of spiritaous liquors to be dangerous to 
health, to reason, and to virtue ; besides earnestly enforcing 
all the Christian duties. 

The Greek poet, Anacreon, celebrated the delights of the 
flowing bowl, and many modern poets have sung them 
with equal enthusiasm, but the wise King of Israel, the 
sage Solomon, who had " given his heart to know madness 
and folly," uttered solemn warnings against this dangerous 
indulgence. " Look not thou upon the wine when it is 
red, when it giveth its color in the cup. At the last, it 
biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder.'' We 
have only to look at many of our fellow-beings to come to 
this conclusion for ourselves. 



THE SPARKLING BOWL. 

Thou sparkling bowl ! thou sparkling bowl ! 

Though lips of bards thy lips may press. 
And eyes of beauty o'er thee roll, 

And song and dance thy power confess, 
I will not touch thee — for there clings, 
A scorpion to thy side that stings ! 

Thou crystal glass ! like Eden's tree 
Thy melted ruby tempts the eye ; 

And as from that, there comes from thee 
The voice, " Thou shalt not surely die." 

I dare not lift thy liquid gem ; — 

A snake is twisted round thy stem ! 

Thou liquid fire, like that which glowed 

On Melita's surf-beaten shore, 
Thou'st been upon my guests bestowed. 

But thou shalt warm my house no more. 
For wheresoe'er thy radiance falls, 
Forth from thy heat a viper crawls ! 

What though of gold the goblet be. 
Embossed with branches of the vine, 

Beneath whose burnished leaves we see 
Such clusters as poured out the wine. 

Among those leaves an adder hangs ; 

I fear him ; — for I've felt his pangs. 



P I E R P O N T, 373 

The Hebrew, who the desert trod, 

And felt the fiery serpent's bite. 
Looked up to that ordained of God, 

And found that hfe was in the sight ; 
So the worm-bitten s fierj' veins 
Cool, when he drinks what God ordains. 

Ye gracious clouds ! ye deep cold wells, 
Ye gems from mossy rocks that drip ! 

Springs that from earth's mysterious cells 
Gush o'er your granite basin's lip ! 

To you I look — your largess give, 

And I will drink of you and live. 

Melita's surf-heaten shore, d'c. — In the twenty-eighth 
chapter of Acts it is related that St. Paul being wrecked 
upon the island of Malta, (Melita), because of " the rain, 
and because of the cold " the people of the country kindled 
a fire, showing "no little kindness" to the apostle and his 
companions. But " there came a viper out of the heat " 
and fastened itself on Paul's hand. In like manner, says 
the poet, well-meant hospitality may be turned to a posi- 
tive injury, if it be shown in tempting guests to the use of 
wine and spirits. 

The Hebrew, who the desert trod, d'c. — The twenty-first 
chapter of the book of Numbers contains the fact here alluded 
to. Fiery serpents bit the Israelites then sojourning in the 
Arabian wilderness. But at God's command Moses made a 
serpent of brass, and erected a pole upon which he placed 
it. According to the Scripture narrative, he who had been 
bitten, when he looked on the brazen serpent, was healed, 
Mr. Pierpont assumes that pure water has a wholesome 
efficacy to the human subject, like that of the serpent of 
Moses. 

Largess. — A gift of money thrown indiscriminately to 
those who will pick it up. Springs of water are offered 
without price to those who will partake of their refreshing 
beveraofe. 



32 



Sli POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



N. P. WILLIS. 

Nathaniel Parker Willis was born at Portland, in Maine. 
He is a graduate of Yale College, and is known favorably 
as a poet, both in England and America. 

THE BELFRY PIGEON. 

On the cross-beam under the Old South bell, 

The nest of a pigeon is builded well. 

In summer and winter tliat bird is there, 

Out and in with the morning air; 

I love to see him track the street, 

With his wary eye and active feet, 

And I often watch liim as he springs, 

Circling the air with easy wings, 

Till across the dial his shade has passed. 

And the belfry edge is gained at last. 

'Tis. a bird I love, with its brooding note, 

And the trembling throb in its mottled throat ; 

There's a human look in its swelling breast. 

And the gentle curve of its lowly crest; 

And I often stop with tlie fear I feel. 

He runs so close to the rapid wheel. 

Whatever is rung on that noisy bell — 

Chime of the hour or funeral knell — 

The dove in the belfry must hear it well, ♦ 

When the tongue swings out to the midnight moon. 

When the sexton cheerily rings for noon, 

When the clock strikes clear at mornincr li^rht, 

When the child is waked with " nine at night." 

When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air. 

Filling the spirit with tears of prayer, — 

Whatever tale in the bell is heard. 

He broods on his folded feet unstirred. 

Or, rising half in his rounded nest, 

He takes the time to smooth his breast, 

Then drops again with filmed eyes 

And sleeps as the last vibration dies. 



WILLIS. 376 



Sweet bird, I would that I could be, 

A hermit in the crowd Jike thee! 

With wings to fl}' to wood and glen ! 

Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men ; 

And daily, with unwilling feet, 

I tread, like thee, the crowded street; 

But unlike me, when day is o'er. 

Thou canst dismiss the world, and soar, 

Or, at a half- felt wish for rest. 

Canst smooth the feathers on thy breast, 

And drop, forgetful, on thy nest. 

I would that in such wings of gold, 
I could my weary heart upfold ; 
I would I could look down unmoved, 
(Loving my fellows and beloved). 
And while the world throngs on beneath, 
Forget my cares and calmly breathe ; 
Yet ever sad Avith others' sadness, 
And ever glad with others' gladness. 
Listen, unstirred, to knell or chime, 
And lapped in quiet, bide my time. 



DEDICATION HYMN. 

The perfect world by Adam trod. 
Was the first temple — built by God — 
His fiat laid the corner-stone, 
And heaved its pillows, one by one. 

He hung its starry roof on high — 

The broad illimitable sky ; 

He spread its pavement, green and bright. 

And curtained it with morning light. 

The mountains in their places stood — 
The sea — the sky — and "all was good;" 
And, when its first pure praises rang, 
" The morning-stars together sang." 



3lQ POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Lord ! 'tis not ours to make the sea 
And eartli and sky a house for thee ; 
But in thy sight our ofF'ring stands — 
A humbler temple " made with hands. 



THE SABBATH. 

It was a pleasant morning, in the time 

When the leaves fall — and the bright sun shone out 

As when the morning-stars first sang together — 

So quietly and calmly fell his light 

Upon a world at rest. There was no leaf 

In motion, and the loud winds slept, and all 

Was still. The laboring herd was grazing 

Upon the hill-side quietly — uncalled 

By the harsh voice of man ; and distant sound, 

Save from the murmuring water-fall, came not 

As usual on the ear. One hour stole on, 

And then another of the morning, calm 

And still as Eden ere the birth of man. 

And then broke in the Sabbath chime of bells — 

And the old man, and his descendents, went 

Together to the house of God. I joined 

The well-apparelled crowd. The holy man 

Rose solemnly, and breathed the prayer of faith — 

And the gray saint, just on the wing for Heaven — 

And the fair maid — and the bright-haired young man- 

And child of curling locks, just taught to close 

The lash of its blue eye the while ; — all knelt 

In attitude of prayer — and then the hymn, 

Sincere in its low melody, went up 

To worship God. 

The white-haired pastor rose 
And looked upon his flock — and with an eye 
That told his interest, and voice that spoke 
In tremulous accents, eloquence like Paul's, 
He lent Isaiah's fire to the truth, 
Of revelation, and persuasion came. 



LONGFELLOW. 377 

Like gushing waters from his lips, till hearts 
Unused to bend, were softened, and the eye 
Unwont to weep sent forth the willing tear. 

I went my way, but as I went, I thought 
How holy was the Sabbath-day of God. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 

This truly admirable poet is a professor of modern lan- 
guages and literature in Harvard Oollege. His narrative 
talent, exalted by the elegance of his taste, and the graces 
of his style, is peculiarly manifest in the Skeleton in 
Armor, a ballad founded in the conjectural history of our 
country. It is believed that certain adventurers from 
northern Europe explored the eastern coast of North 
America as early as A.D. 800, and it is further affirmed 
that they landed at, and perhaps occupied, certain places 
north-east of the Hudson river. 

One proof of such occupation, is an edifice called the 
Round Tower, near Newport, Rhode Island. No precise 
record of the origin of this building exists, but Danish 
antiquaries claim it as a work of their early ancestors. 
This assumption is supported by the fact that the style of 
the Tower is the same which in England is denominated 
Saxon, and sometimes Norman, architecture. This build- 
ing, once employed as a windmill, and latterly as a hay- 
magazine, has sustained some modern alterations, but 
certain primitive features of it justify the conclusion that it 
was erected at a period not later than the twelfth century. 

This presumption has been corroborated by the ex- 
humation of a skeleton, clad in broken and corroded 
armor, at Fall River, a town not far from Newport. Mr. 
Longfellow infers that the skeleton may have been that of 
some Viking, or predatory adventurer of Scandinavian origin, 
.32* 



378 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

who brought hither his bride, and who perished, and was 
buried here. He commences the poem by addressing the 
skeleton, and it proceeds by the disclosure of his history 
from the long silent voice of the armed man. 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. 

" Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest 

Comest to daunt me ! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms, 

Why dost thou haunt me ?" 

Then from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seem to rise, 
As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December ; 
And hke the water's flow 
Under December's snow, 
Came a dull voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber. 

" I was a Viking old ! 
My deeds though manifold. 
No Skald in song has told, 

No Saga taught thee ! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse 1 

For this I sought thee. 

" Far in the Northern Land, 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand, 

Tamed the gerfalcon ; 
And, with my skates fast bound 
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 
That the poor trembling hound 

Trembled to walk on. 



LOKGFELLOW. 379 



" Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grisly bear, 
While from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow ; 
Oft through the forest dark, 
Followed the were-wolf's bark, 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 

" But when I older grew, 
Joining a corsair's crew, 
O'er the dark sea I flew 

With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led ; 
Many the souls that sped, 
Many the hearts that bled. 

By our stern orders. 

" Many a wassail-bout 
Wore the long winter out ; 
Often our midnight shout 

Set the cocks crowing. 
As we the Berserk's tale 
Measured in cups of ale. 
Draining the oaken pail 
Filled to o'erfiowing. 

" Once, as I told in glee. 
Tales of the stormy sea, 
Soft eyes did gaze on me, 

Burning, yet tender : 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine. 
On that dark heart of mine 

Fell their soft splendor. 

"I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid, 
And in the forest's shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast, 
Like birds within their nest 

By the hawk frighted. 



380 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

" Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
Loud sang the minstrels all, 

Chanting his glory ; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter's hand, 
Mute did the minstrels stand 
To hear my story. 

" While the brown ale he quaffed, 
Loud then the champion laughed ; 
And as the wind gusts waft 
The sea-foam brightly. 
So the loud laugh of scorn. 
Out of those hps unshorn, 
From the deep drinking-horn 
Blew the foam lightly. 

"She was a prince's child, 
I but a Viking wild ; 
And though she blushed and smiled, 

I was discarded ! 
Should not the dove so white, 
Follow the sea-mew's flight ; 
Why did they leave that night 
Her nest unguarded ? 

•'Scarce had I put to sea. 
Bearing the maid with me, — ■ 
Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen ! — 
When on the white sea-strand, 
Waving his armed hand. 
Saw we old Hildebrand, 

With twenty horsemen. 

" Then launched they to the blast, 
Bent like a reed each mast. 
Yet we were gaining fast. 

When the wind failed us ; 
And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 
So that the foe we saw, 

Laughed as he hailed us. 



LONGFELLOW. 381 



" And as to catch the gale, 
Round veered the flapping sail ; 
Death ! was the helmsman's hail. 

Death without quarter ! 
Midships, with iron keel, 
Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
Down her black hulk did reel. 

Through the black water ! 

"As with his wings aslant. 
Sails the fierce Cormorant, 
Seeking some rocky haunt 

With his prey laden, 
So toward the open main, 
Beating to sea again, 
Through the wild hurricane 

Bore I the maiden. 

" Three weeks we westward bore, 
And, when the storm was o'er, 
Cloud-like we saw the shore 

Stretching to leeward ; 
There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty tower, 
Which to this very hour 

Stands looking seaward. 

" There lived we many years ; 
Time dried the maiden's tears ; 
She had forgot her fears, 

She was a mother ; 
Death closed her mild blue eyes— 
Under that tower she lies, 
Ne'er shall the sun arise 

On such another ! 

" Still grew my bosom then. 
Still as a stagnant fen ! 
Hateful to me were men ; 

The sunlight hateful ! 
In the vast forest liere, 
Clad in my warlike gear, 
Fell I upon my spear, — 

O, death was grateful ! 



382 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

" Thus, seamed with many scars, 
Bursting these prison bars. 
Up to its native stars 

My soul ascended ! 
There from the flowing bowl, 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul ; 
Shoal ! to the Northland ! Shoal 1" 

— Thus the tale ended. 

This ballad exhibits, in brief, the life of a northern 
adventurer in the middle ages. In his youth he was a 
hunter, tamed the falcon which he employed in the seizure 
of other birds, skated on the frozen lake, and, attended by 
his hounds, tracked the grisly bear, or forced from his 
dark haunts the predacious wolf. In his riper age, he 
drank deep, repaired to the sea for piratical enterprises, 
and if he saw a maiden who pleased him, was not disheart- 
ened when her father refused her to him, but, with her 
consent, or without it, appropriated her to himself. Thus 
a true account of Scandinavian manners is related in a 
"lovely song." 

Skald, a Runic or Scandinavian poet. 

Saga, a poem, or song. 

Bersek, a rude warrior among the half-civilized North- 
men. 

Skoal, a customary salutation when taking a drink. 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 

Under a spreading chesnut-tree. 

The village smithy stands; 
The smith a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat ; 

He earns whate'er he can. 
And looks the whole world in the face. 

For he owes not any man. 



LONGFELLOW. 383 

Week in, week out, from morn till night, 

You can hear his bellows blow ; 
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge 

With measured beat and slow, 
Like a sexton ringing the village-bell, 

When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school, 

Look in at the open door ; 
They love to see the flaming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar. 
And catch the burning sparks that fly. 

Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church. 

And sits among his boys ; 
He hears the parson pray and preach; 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir, — 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to hira like her mother's voice. 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more. 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling — rejoicing — sorrowing. 

Onward through life he goes. 
Each morning sees some task begin. 

Each evening sees its close ; 
Something attempted, something done, 

Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend. 

For the lesson thou hast taught ! 
Thus at the flamincr forcfe of life. 

Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 

Each burnintT deed and thoupfht. 



384 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



EDWARD EVERETT. 

Mr. Everett may be accounted one of the chief orna- 
ments of our country, whether his genius, his scholarship or 
his moral qualities be regarded. He has been a member 
of Congress, Governor of Massachusetts, Minister Plenipo- 
tentiary from the United States to Great Britain, and 
President of Harvard College. In all these high functions 
be has acquitted himself with ability and dignity ; and now 
in retirement, e.vonerated from public duties, by his ex- 
ample and his influence, proves that a private station is a 
post of honor. 

ALARIC THE VISIGOTH. 

The Visigoths were a race of barbarians occupying mid- 
dle Europe, who made war upon the Roman emperor 
Arcadias, ravaging Greece and Italy. Their leader, 
Alaric, boasted that where his hosts trod, the grass never 
grew. He besieged and plundered Rome, A.D. 400. 
Afterwards, feeling his end approaching, he ordered that 
the Busentius, a river of Italy, should be diverted from 
its channel, that his body might be interred in its bed. 
Mr. Everett has made this dying injunction the subject of 
his fine verses. 

When I am dead, no pageant train 
Shall waste their sorrows at my bier, 

Nor worthless pomp of homage vain, 
Stain it with hypocritic tear ; 

For I will die as I did live, 

Nor take the boon I cannot give. 

Ye shall not raise a marble bust 

Upon the spot where I repose ; 
Ye shall not fawn before my dust 

In hollow circumstance of woes : 
Not sculptured clay with lying breath. 
Insult the clay that moulds beneath. 



EVERETT. 385 

Ye shall not pile, with servile toil. 

Your monuments upon my breast ; 
Nor yet, within the common soil. 

Lay down the wreck of power to rest ; 
Where man can boast that he has trod 
On him that was the scourge of God. 

But ye the mountain stream shall turn, 

And lay its secret channel bare. 
And hollow, for your sovereign's urn, 

A resting-place forever there : 
Then bid its everlasting springs 
Flow back upon the king of kings ; 
And never be the secret said. 
Until the deep give up his dead. 

My gold and silver ye shall fling 

Back to the clods that gave them birth ; 

The captured crowns of many a king. 
The ransom of a conquered earth : 

For e'en though dead will I control 

The trophies of the capitol. 

But when beneath the mountain tide 
Ye've laid your monarch down to rest, 

Ye shall not rear upon its side 
Pillar or mound to mark the spot ; 

For long enough the world has shook 

Beneath the terrors of my look ; 

And now that I have run my race. 

The astonished realms shall rest a space. 

My course was like a river deep. 

And from the northern hills I burst, 
Across the world in wrath to sweep ; 

And where I went, the land was cursed ; 
Nor blade of grass again was seen, 
Where Alaric and his hosts had been. 

See how the haughty barriers fail 

Beneath the terror of the Goth, — 
Their iron-breasted legions quail 

Before my ruthless sabaoth ; 
And low the queen of empires kneels, 
And grovels at ray chariot wheels. 
33 



3S6 V o ;: r ;; v r o ii s o }i o o L s . 

Not for myself did I ascend. 

In judgnietit, m}' triumphal car; 

'T was God alone on high did send 
The avenging Scythian to the war, 

To shake abroad with iron hand, 

The appointed scourge of his command. 

With iron hand that scourge I reared, 

O'er guilty king and guilty realm; 
Destruction was the ship I steered, 

And Vengeance sat upon the helm ; 
When, launched in fury on the flood, 
I ploughed my way through seas of blood, 
And in the stream their hearts had spilt, 
Washed out the long arrears of guilt. 

Across the everlasting Alp, 

I poured the torrent of my poivers. 

And feeble Caesars shrieked for help 
In vain within their seven-hilled towers; 

I quenched in blood the brightest gem 

That glittered in their diadem ; 

And struck a darker, deeper die, 

In the purple of their majest}'^ ; 

And bade my northern banners shine 

Upon the conquered Palatine. 

My course is run, my errand done ; 

I go to him from whence I came ; 
But never yet shall set the sun 

Of glory that adorns my name ; 
And Roman hearts shall long be sick, 
When men shall think of Alaric. 

My course is run, my errand done, — 

But darker ministers of fate, 
Impatient round the eternal throne, 

And in the eaves of vengeance wait ; 
And soon mankind shall blench away 
Before the name of Attila. 



W H ITTIE R . 387 

The trophies of the Capitol. — The Capitol was the chief 
temple of ancient Rome, dedicated to Jupiter, and embel- 
lished by a famous statue of hira : hence called the Capito- 
line Jupiter. In the Capitol, the Romans deposited trophies 
— valuable articles taken from conquered states, and 
preserved to celebrate victories. Alaric ordered the 
crowns he had seized to be buried with him, that they 
might never be deposited in the temple of that great 
people, then gradually yielding up their honors to the 
rapacity of barbarian invaders. 

Sabaoth — armies. 

The queen of empires — Rome personified. 

The avenging Scythian. — The Huns and other barbarous 
tribes then ravaging the Roman empire, were called by 
the general appellation, Scythians, Scythia being under- 
stood to be southern Russia, and the neighboring country ; 
no very exact geography at that time existing. 

Powers. — The word powers here signifies armed forces ; 
it is frequently so used by Shakspeare and Milton. 

Feeble Ccesars, (kc. — Caesar, at first a proper name, 
came to be the title of Roman emperors. 

Tlie conquered Palatine. — The Palatine was one of the 
seven hills upon which Rome was built. 

Attila, king of the Huns, ravaged Italy and Gaul after 
Alaric, and died A. D. 453. 



JOHN G. WHITTIER. 

Mr. Whittier was born, 1808, in Haverhill, Massachu- 
setts. His poems are distinguished by a devout and 
benevolent spirit ; by the sentiment of love for God and 
man. 



388 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

THE CYPRESS TREE OF CEYLON. 

Ibn Batuta, a celebrated Mussulman traveller of the 
fourteenth century, speaks of a cypress tree in Ceylon, 
held sacred by the inhabitants, the leaves of which were 
said to fall only at long and uncertain periods ; and he 
who had the happiness to find and eat one of them, if old 
and enfeebled, would at once be restored to youth and 
vigor. Tlie traveller saw several aged men sitting silent 
under this tree, patiently waiting the fall of a leaf. Mr. 
Wliittier would teach men from this fact to seek, not the 
impossible renewing of the outward man, but rather the 
edification of the moral nature, through the influences of 
the Christian doctrine. 

They sat in silent watchfulness 

The sacred cypress tree about, 
And from the wrinkled brows of age, 

Their failing eyes looked out. 
Gray age and sickness waiting there, 

Through every night and lingering day, 
Grim as the idols at their side, 

And motionless as they. 

Unheeded, in the boughs above, 

The song of Ceylon's birds was sweet ; 
Unseen of them the island's flowers 

Bloomed brightly at their feet. 
O'er them the tropic night-storm swept, 

The thunder crashed on rock and hill, 
The lightning wrapped them like a cloud, — 

Yet there they waited still ! 

What was the world without to them ? 

The Moslem's sunset call — the dance 
Of Ceylon's maids — the passing gleam 

Of battle flag and lance ? 
They waited for that falling leaf 

Of which the wandering Jogees sing. 
Which lends once more to wintry age, 

The greenness of its spring. 

Oh ! if these poor and blinded ones, 
In trustful patience, wait to feel. 



WaiTTIER. 589 

O'er torpid pulse and failing limb, 

A youthful freshness steal : 
Shall we who sit beneath that tree, 

Whose healing leaves of life are shed 
In answer to the breath of prayer. 

Upon the waiting head. 

Not to restore our failing forms, 

Nor build the spirit's broken shrine, 
But on the fainting soul to pour 

A light and life divine ; 
Shall we grow weary of our watch, 

And murmur at the long delay, — • 
Impatient of our father's time. 

And his appointed way ? 

Or shall the stir of outward things 

Allure and fix the Christian's eye, 
When on the heathen watcher's ear, 

Their powerless murmurs die ? 
Alas ! a deeper test of faith 

Than prison-cell or martyr's stake. 
The self-abasing watchfulness 

Of silent prayer can make. 

! Thou, who in the garden's shade. 

Didst wake thy weary ones again, 
Who slumbered in that fearful hour. 

Forgetful of thy pain : 
Bend o'er us now, as over them, 

And set our sleep-bound spirits free. 
Nor leave us slumbering in the watch 

Our souls should keep for thee ! 

The Moslem's sunset call. — The summons to evening' 
prayer. The Mahometans do not employ bells in religious 
services. Though a large part of the island of Ceylon is 
occupied by native tribes, now under dominion of Britain, 
some Mahometan settlers inhabit there, and maintain their 
peculiar customs. 

TJie wandering Jogees. — Natives who pretend to be saints, 
who teach absurd superstitions, and are held in great rev- 
erence by the Cingalese. 
33* 



390 poetrv for schooLSv 



HANNAH F. GOULD. 

Miss Gould, a resident in Newburyport, Massachusetts, 
IS a charming poetess. The moral and religious feeling in- 
fused into her verses is wholly free from cant, and cora- 
tnon-place imitation. They please, because they are original 
and fresh ; they improve the mind, for they are informed 
not only with true wisdom, but with a soul of goodness. 



THE PEBBLE AND THE ACORN. 

" I am a pebble ! and yield to none !" 
Were the swelling words of a tiny stone ; 
" Nor time nor seasons can alter me ; 
I am abiding, while ages flee. 
The pelting rain, and the drizzling rain, 
Have tried to soften me long in vain ; 
And the tender dew has sought to melt 
Or touch my heart ; but it was not felt. 
There's none can tell about my birth, 
For I'm as old as the big round earth. 
The children of men arise and pass 
Out of the world, like blades of grass ; 
And many a foot on me has trod, 
That's gone out of sight under the sod. 
I am a pebble, but who art thou. 
Rattling along from the restless bough ?" 
The acorn was shocked at this rude salute, 
And lay for a moment, abashed and mute ; 
She never before had been so near 
This gravelly ball, the mundane sphere ; 
And she felt for a time at a loss to know 
How to answer a thing so coarse and low ; 
But to give reproof of a nobler sort 
Than the angry look or the keen retort. 
At lengfth she said, in a wentle tone : 

" Since it happened that I am thrown 
From the lighter element where I grew, 
Down to another so light and new, 



GOULD, 391 

And beside a personage so august, 

Abased, I will cover my head with dust, 

And quickly retire from the sight of one 

Whom time, nor season, nor storm, nor sun, 

Nor the gentle dew, nor the grinding heel 

Has ever subdued or made to feel 1" 

And soon in the earth she sunk away 

From the comfortless spot where the pebble lay. 

But it was not long ere the soil was broke 

By the peering head of the infant oak ! 

And as it arose, and its branches spread. 

The pebble looked up and wondering said : 

*' A modest acorn, never to tell 

What was enclosed in its simple shell 1 

That the pride of the forest was folded up 

In the narrow space of its little cup-! 

And meekly to sink in the darksome earth, 

Which proves that nothing could hide her worth. 

And oh ! how many will tread on me. 

To come and admire the beautiful tree, 

Whose head is towering towards the sky, 

Above such a worthless thing as I ! 

Useless and vain, a cumberer here, 

I have been idling from year to year. 

But never, from this, shall a vaunting word 

From the humbled pebble again be heard. 

Till something without me or within. 

Shall show the purpose for which Fve been !" 

The pebble its vow could not forget, 

And it lies there wrapt in silence yet. 

This is a very pretty fable intended to show that vain 
boasting is the folly of the insignificant, and humility the 
proper attribute of true dignity ; that nature, which is con- 
stantly improving as the acorn in its progress to the migl' ' 
oak, is superior to the stationary being that never advances 
from its primitive unimportance. In a philosophical point 
of view, however, nothing in nature is unimportant. If a 
single pebble have no apparent value, the wiiole aggregate 
of pebbles has its uses ; as, though the single rain-drop is 
of small service, the collective drops of the shower are the 
refreshment and sustenance of animal and vegetable life. 



392 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

THE FROST, 

The frost looked out one still clear night, 
And whispered, " Now I shall be out of sight. 
So, through the valley, and over the height, 

In silence I'll take my way. 
I will not go on like that blustering train — 
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain ^ 

But I'll be as busy as they." 

Then he flew to the mountain and powderedsts crest ; 
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed 
In diamond beads: and over the breast 

Of the quivering lake he spread 
A coat of mail, that it need not fear 
The downward point of many a spear 
That he hung on its margin far and near. 

Where a rock could rear its head. 

He went to the windows of tliose who slept. 
And over each pane like a fairy crept ; 
"Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, 

By the light of the moon were seen 
Most beautiful things ; there were flowers and trees j 
There were bevies of birds, and swarms of bees ; 
There were cities with temples and towers ; and these 

All pictured in silver sheen ; 

But he did one thing that was hardly fair, — 
He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there 
That all had forgotten for him to prepare. 

" Now just to set them a thinking, 
I'll bite this basket of fruifc," said he, 
"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three. 
And the glass of water they've left for me 
Shall ' tchick' to tell them I'm drinkinsr." 



CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN. 

Mr. Hoff"man is a native of New York, living in 1849, 
honored for his taste and scholarship, and for his moral 
worth. American life and American nature, are the sub- 



HOFFMAN. 393 

jects on -which his descriptive talent has been chiefly employ- 
<id. In the arts of painting and sculpture, genius, exerted 
in imitation, produces pleasure in the representation of the 
humblest persons, and also of the inferior animals. In like 
manner, poetry, to gratify the reader, descends to every ex- 
hibition of character and manners. 



THE FORESTER. 

There was an old hunter camped down by the rill, 

Who fished in this water, and shot on that hill ; 

The forest for him had no danger nor gloom, 

For all that he wanted was plenty of room. 

Says he : " The world's wide, there is room for us all. 
Room enough in the green-wood, if not in the hall." 

He wove his own mats, and his shanty was spread 
With the skins he had dressed and stretched out overhead. 
The branches of hemlock, piled deep on the floor, 
Was his bed as he sung, when the daylight was o'er, 
" The world is wide, there is room for us all — 
Room enough in the green-wood, if not in the hall." 

That spring, half choked up by the dust of the road, 
Through a grove of tall maples once limpidly flowed ; 
By a rock wlience it bubbles, his kettle was hung, 
Which the sap often filled, while the hunter he sung, 
" The world is wide, there is room for us all — 
Room enough in the green-wood, if not in the hall." 

And still sung the hunter, when one gloomy day 
He saw in the forest what saddened his lay ; 
'Twas the rut which a heavy-wheeled wagon had made 
Where the green-sward grows thick in the broad forest glade. 
" The world is wide, there is room for us all — 
Room enough in the green-wood, if not in the hall." 

He whistled his dog, and, says he, " We can't stay, 
I must shoulder my rifle, my traps, and away." 
Next day mid those maples the settler's axe rang. 
While slowly the hunter trudged off", as he sang, 
" The world is wide, there is room for us all — 
Room enough in the green- wood, if not in the hall." 



394 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 



LEGENDS. 

Tlie people of the United States possess no legends, ex- 
cept, it may be, a few relating to the aborigines. " A ?e- 
gendj^ says Worcester's dictionary, " is any incredible, 
inauthentic narrative." It is generally understood to 
be an im memorial tradition, founded upon a remote fact, 
which has been altered and added to by frequent repeti- 
tions. The old countries of Europe letain many legends 
of ancient date. They originated in times when writing 
and printing were not practiced. Many of these old tales, 
and the superstitions recorded in them have been imitated 
in modern poetry. Clement C. Moore, a professor in the 
Episcopal Theological Seminary in New York, has produ- 
ced one of the most amusing of these imitations. 

In former times different people in Europe celebrated 
their benefactors as saints. They assumed that the beati- 
fied spirits of the departed watched over and blessed those 
who honored their memory ; thus the English call St. George 
their patron saint, the Irish venerate St. Patrick, and the 
Scotch St. Andrew. St. Nicholas seems to have been the 
saint of little children, especially' in many countries. He 
was the favorite of the good Dutch colonists, who first 
occupied the New Netherlands, and their descendants of 
New York at the present time, amuse children with tales 
of Santa Claus. This bountiful saint is supposed to bestow 
upon children, every Christmas eve, those presents which 
are actually conferred by their parents and friends ; hence 
Mr. Moore describes himself as having seen St. Nick charg- 
ed with a bundle of toys for his little folks. 

CHRISTMAS TIMES. 

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house 
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse ; 
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care. 
In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there. 
The children were nestled all snug in their beds. 
While visions of sugar plumbs danced in their heads. 
And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap. 
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap. 



LEGENDS. !195 

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, 
I sprung from the bed to see what was the matter. 

Away to the window I flew like a flash, 
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash, 
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow. 
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below, — 
When what to my wandering eyes should appear, 
But a miniature sleigli, and eight tiny reindeer, 
With a little old driver so lively and quick, 
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. 

More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came. 

And he whistled and shouted and called them by name: — 

" Now Dasher ! now Dancer ! now Prancer ! now Vixen ! 

On Comet! on Cupid ! on, Dunder and Blixen ! 

To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, 

Now dash away ! dash away ! dash away all !" 

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly. 

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, 

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew. 

With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too. 

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof 
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof; 
As I drew in ray head, and was turning around, 
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. 
He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot. 
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot : 
A bundle of toys was flung on his back. 
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack. 
His eyes — how they twinkled ! his dimples, how merry ! 
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry ; 
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, 
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow ; 
The stump of his pipe he held tight in his teeth, 
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. 

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, 
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. 
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head 
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. 



396 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



He said not a word, but went straight to his work, 
And filled all Ms stockings* — then turned with a jerk. 
And laying his finger aside of his nose, 
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. 
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle. 
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle ; 
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, 
" Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night/' 

* The children's stockings hung up to receive presents. 




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